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THE DELUGE —See page 52. 




















































































































































FIRST QUARRELS. 

l 





FIRST QUARRELS 


AN D 






TO WHICH IS ADDED 


A MATRIMONIAL PEACE-OFFERING. 



“Quarrels cluster; rare and hurtful quarrels, 

They love a train ; they tread each other’s heels.” 

“ Happy are they who learn from the experiences of others.” 


CINCINNATI : 

APPLEGATE & COMPANY, PUBLISHERS, 

No. 43 Main Street. 

1864. 


Or 








-V 


Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year eighteen hundred and fifty-nine, 

By APB LEGATE & CO., 

In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the United States for the Southern District of Ohio. 




First quarrels in married life are the pioneers that prepare a 
sort, of macadamized road for the easy ingress of succeeding 
ones, and it must be admitted that any endeavor calculated to 
increase the caution of those who are liable to such errors is a 
laudable one. A strong determination, which, I think, had its 
origin chiefly in a desire to do good, led me a few months ago to 
undertake the preparation of the present volume, hoping it 
would, in some measure, promote connubial happiness. Perhaps 
the reader who has examined its title-page is ready to ask, 
« What do you call a quarrel and a discord in married life, and 
what is the distinction between them?” I answer^ according 
to ray view, a dispute between a man and his wife, when both 
are angry, constitutes a quarrel, and when only one member of 
the pair becomes enraged it is simply a discord. But discords 
may exist without anger. Mere dissatisfaction with one’s 
marriage state, though it be unexpressed, amounts to a discord. 
All quarrels are discords, but all discords are not quarrels; yet 
they tend very much thereto, and should be avoided with equal 
care. They are as clouds to rain, and as a deep, wide channel 
to a river. 

To any who may think that in the succeeding Quarrels and 
Discords the wife is, oftener than the husband, represented as 



Y1 


PREFACE. 


being first to blame, I would offer this apology: From some 
mysterious cause I have found it three-fold easier to obtain 
sketches involving the wife in the aggression than those in 
which the husband appeared first in fault. I mention this fact, 
and leave it for others to speculate upon the probable reasons of 
its being a fact. I guess , however, it is because wives, in their 
long forbearance, refrain from telling on their husbands as often 
as they might; whereas, husbands are rather forward to tell. 

I tender devout thanks to the numerous friends who have 
thus far encouraged me in my undertaking, and, indeed, I will 
thank the few who have tried to discourage me. Such negative 
influences are sometimes useful as stimulants to a man’s lagging 
efforts, and are almost as necessary to the accomplishment of 
some purposes as fire is to the success of the steam engine. 

I am especially under obligations to Rev. Erwin House, 
Assistant Editor of the Western Christian Advocate, for his 
frequent kind and valuable suggestions concerning the literary 
finish of this volume, the materials of which at my request, he 
consented to review before they were placed in the printers’ 
hands. 

Should the appearance of this unassuming book induce 
somebody else to furnish a belter relating to like follies, and 
accomplish nothing more, I shall consider that my effort has 
not been in vain. 

South of Greensburg, Ind., 

Nov. 1st., 1859. 


J. H. B. 



a»<sj Hi#*®* 


The First Quarrel, . .. 77 

The Hole in the Carpet,.. 

First a Husband, then a Wife to blame,. . . 25 

Marrying for Money,.. 

Selfishness ; or Plaintiff and Defendant, . . 39 

The Disastrous Cups of Cold Water, .... 51 

Money is not Love,. 54 

Naming the First-born,.. 

White Hands and Muddy Coffee,. 52 

The boiled Egg and the testy Bride, .... 57 

The Intimate Friend,. 79 

Improprieties with a Servant,.93 

Trifles,.100 

The Jealous Wife,.. 

The Jealous Husband,.128 

A Thrilling Sketch,.. 

Confessions of an Unyielding Wife, .... 154 

A Mistake,.160 

A Husband’s Confession,.180 

A Story for Young Husbands,.182 

















Vlll 


CONTENTS. 




Pape e. 

Building on the Sand,.193 

“ Only a few Faults,”.193 

Taking a Wife,.195 

Best Plan after the Choice is made, .... 196 

How to keep Dwellings from being Haunted, . 197 

The Ever-Present “ If,” ..199 

Home Hints to a Husband,.200 

A Lady’s Advice to a Bride,.201 

Mutability of the Husband’s Affection,. . . 202 

Don’t Expect too Much,.204 

Rules for Husbands,.204 

Rules for. Wives, ..206 

General Rules for Husbands and Wives, . . 209 

To Young Husbands,.. . . . 210 

How to assist in Curing a Husband’s bad Habits, 213 

The Marriage Altar,.214 

The Wife’s Appeal,.216 

Whisper to a Husband,.. ..218 

Hints to Wives, . ... ..218 

“It’s Nobody but m:y Husband,”.219 

The Secret of Success, ..220 

A Happy Home, ..221 

No Good from Passion,.221 

IIemember This,..222 

The Folly of Fretting,.223 

The Bride Counseled,.224 

Self-Government, ...225 

Little Things Fearful,.225 

A Hint on the Prevention of Quarrels, . . . 226 

Insignificance of Disputed Points,.226 

A Little Word,.228 


























CONTENTS 


IX 


“ Out of Heart,”. 

Praise your Wife,. 

A Rift tn the Clouds,. 

Complaint of a Merchant’s Wife,. 

Think not lightly of your Wife,. 

Home Politeness,. 

Jealousy, . 

Justice at Meal-time,. 

Be Gentle to thy Wife,. 

Stinginess of Husbands,. 

Extract from a Sermon on Marriage, .... 

Let us Love each other still,. 

Husbands and Wives belonging to different 

Churches,. 

Treatment of a Wife,. 

Beautiful Suggestions,. 


Page. 

228 

233 

1235 

240 

240 

241 

242 

243 

245 

246 

247 

249 

250 

251 
253 


INCIDENTS. 


A Remarkable Reconciliation,.255 

Marrying without Affection,.256 

An Imprudent Jest,.256 

Best Way to Scold,.257 

Remarkable Fidelity,.257 

The Deathless Love of Woman, .258 

Wife of the Imprisoned Irishman,.261 

An Anomaly, .261 

A Fortunate Husban ..262 

“ Is that All?”. 262 

What to do in Misfortune,.263 

Eccentric Illustration,.263 

A Wife’s Influence,. 264 























X 


CONTENTS. 


Page. 

A Beautiful Lesson,.266 

Touching Sight in a Rail-car,.266 

“ A Crown to her Husband,”.267 

Beautiful Incident in the Life of Mrs. Phelps, . 268 

Joined in the Better Country,.268 

Last Moments of Postmaster-General Brown, . 271 

MORSELS. 

Morsels for Husbands,.273 

Morsels for Wives,.278 

Morsels for all the Married, .282 











Oh! man may bear with suffering; his heart 
Is a strong thing, and god-like in the grasp 
Of pain that wrings mortally; but tear 
One chord affection clings to, part one tie 
That binds him to a woman’s delicate love, 

And his spirit yieldeth like a reed.—N. P. Willis. 

“ To think he would have said that; in such a tone, 
too, and I have not been his wife but six little months !” 
And a deeper shadow drifted over the beautiful^ face; 
the small, rosy fingers tossed back with a petulant motion 
the brown curls that flowed over the cheeks, and a fresh 
flood of tears poured from the soft eyes. 

Those bright bitter tears, they looked strangely out 
of keeping with all the surroundings of the young wife. 
The pale light of the winter day came through the 
damask curtains, and filled the tastefully furnished room 
with its spring-like glow. The fire curled with its 
thousand bright serpentine tongues up the black mouth 
of the chimney, and as Ellen Howard sat there in its 
shrine, it seemed as if only happy thoughts could find 
a nestling place in a heart around which so many of 
earth’s blessings clustered. 



12 


FIEST QUARRELS 


But that day for the first time a shadow had drifted 
across her married life; it had originated in some trivial 
matter, but the inclination of the wife and the opinion 
of the husband had been brought in collision, and after 
considerable pouting, and an angry remark from Ellen, 
which she would the next moment gladly have recalled, 
Henry Howard had spoken peremptorily—almost angrily 
•—to his young wife, and left the house. 

She was the only “ hearth-flower” of the home whence 
he had transplanted her, and she had been nurtured 
in an atmosphere of love and kindness, such as little 
strengthens the spirit for the trials and the strife which, 
sooner or later, all must encounter. 

Henry Howard loved his young wife with an intensity 
of affection which strong, proud natures, such as his, can 
only feel; but she never dreamed when her brown head 
rested against the heart whose every pulse throbbed with 
a love for her which it is seldom the lot of woman to 
receive, that a strong will, and resoluteness of purpose, 
which^ no circumstances had evolved to her perception, 
might for a time hold in subjugation even love for 
herself. 

“ He shall not see how this remark pained me ; I will 
wipe away these tears, and he shall never dream I have 
shed any,” said Mrs. Howard, rising and pacing her 
parlor with flushed cheeks and an unsteady step. “ I will 
meet him with cold politeness on his return, and he shall 
learn that Ellen Howard is not a child, whom he can 
order at his will. Oh ! Henry; Henry ! how changed !” 
and the tears were dashed away, and the rising sob 
hastily swallowed, but a very bright vision in the past 
had evoked them. 

“ Well, I suppose I did speak rather hastily to Nellie, 



IN MARRIED LIFE. 


13 


this noon, and T feel half like calling myself a scoundrel 
for it,” soliloquized the young merchant, as he paced a 
small room situated at one end of his large building, that 
afternoon, with an abstracted air and rather troubled 
brow. “ I dare say, the poor child sits there all alone, 
feeling as if her heart was almost broken, but—hang it! 
her remark touched my feelings at a point where they are 
most sensitive, and the words had passed my lips before 
I was aware of it. I ought to remember, too, how I took 
her (bless her sweet little self!) from a home where never 
a stern or angry word had met her ear, and how I said, 
on that night when she lifted her blue eyes so trustingly 
to me, and laying her little hand in my own, promised 
to be mine, that I would guard her from the very shadow 
of evil, that her happiness should be far dearer to me than 
the life which would be nothing without her. 

“ And now, when she has been the sunshine of my 

home for only six months, I have-Henry Howard, 

you’re a rascal, and there’s no use of denying it, and you 
don’t deserve that little jewel of a wife you have, any 
more than some other persons you thought didn't 

The heart of Ellen Howard beat quickly that night as 
the sun went over the house-tops, for her ear caught the 
sound of a well known footfall in the hall. 

Then a quiver of pride rippled over the red lip, and 
when her husband entered the room, instead of springing 
forward, as she had always previously done, to receive 
his caress, she quietly remarked, lifting her eyes from 
the pages which she had been for the last two hours 
perusing, “ You are late this evening, Henry.” 

The voice, the manner, chilled the tide of warm feeling 
which had been gaining depth and strength all the after¬ 
noon, for Henry Howard had returned with the intention 




14 


FIRST QUARRELS 


of making fall concessions to his wife for all that was 
hasty or unkind in his conduct at noon. 

But the words he was about to speak died on his lips, 
as he met the cool, almost ironically courteous reception, 
and simply remarking, “ Yes; I was unavoidably de¬ 
tained,” he seated himself by the fire and took up a 
book. 

In a little time they went out to supper. How unlike 
it was to former ones! The lamp still poured its soft, 
silvery shine on the white china, and the glittering urn; 
but the smiles which had sweetened the tea, and the 
loving words which had given a richer flavor to the 
muffins were no longer there. 

But a shadow on two loving hearts, and a breach 
widening continually between them—these were there. 

And so ended the meal. Alas ! it was but the type 
of others. 

Two days had passed away, and the coldness which 
had sprung up between the newly married pair still 
continued. 

“ I can bear it no longer; this very night I will go to 
him, and lay my cheek against his, just as I used to, 
and say to him, Henry, put your arms around me, and 
call me your own Nellie once more, or my heart will 
break.” 

“ I can’t bear it any longer—I’ve got so I dread to 
go home : I don’t believe Nellie loves me as well as I 
thought she did,” said the young merchant, as he made 
his way homeward with a weary step, very unlike his 
former quick, joyous gait. 

And they met again, and the old demon, pride, came 
back to both hearts, and neither dreamed of the bitter¬ 
ness which each was meting out to the other. 



IN MARRIED LIFE. 15 

“ I am going out a little while to-night, Ellen; I shall 
return early.” 

She bowed her head—that was all, for the tears were 
coming, and she would not that he should see them. 

“ And he could leave me thus—all alone, without one 
kind word,” murmured the now really wretched wife, as 
she heard the door close, and the footsteps grow fainter 
in the distance. 

Then she threw herself on the lounge, and burying 
her brown head in the crimson cushions, wept long and 
bitterly, and between the sobs that convulsed the figure 
of Ellen Howard, came the self-accusing words, “ Oh, if 
I had only told him ! ” 

At last, exhausted with violent weeping, the lids closed 
over her eyes, and Mrs. Howard sank into a heavy 
slumber. 

She started up quickly, for the silvery-voiced time¬ 
piece had broken in with its story of ten o’clock, on the 
hush which filled the room. 

“ And he has not come yet! He who never left me 
alone an evening before ! Oh, if harm should have be¬ 
fallen him ! ” And a pang shot through the heart which 
had been very heavy before with its weight of shadows. 

She went to the window, and looked up at the clear, 
cold stars. She went to the door, and listened for his 
footsteps; then she went to the grate, and stirred up the 
glowing bed of anthracite, until a golden light filled the 
room ; but still he came not. 

Eleven o’clock came, and he was not there. 

Twelve o’clock !—what pen shall record the sufferings, 
which, during those two long hours, had been the portion 
of Mrs. Howard. 

The bell rang—it was a loud, startling peal; she sprang 



16 


FIRST QUARRELS 


up, and hurried to the door, for all the domestics had 
retired. 

There were two gentlemen there—she recognized them 
as acquaintances, hut the third—one glance, and she 
grasped the door handle, or she would have fallen. 

“ Don’t be alarmed, Mrs. Howard,” said one of the 
gentlemen, “ your husband has not experienced any injury, 
and a good night’s rest will restore him. He was at a 
supper given by one of our club this evening, and, unfor¬ 
tunately, drank rather freely.” They carried him in, 
his wife leading the way with faltering steps; laid him on 
the bed and immediately departed. She alone was with 
him, and the scales had fallen from her mental eyesight. 

She saw then how truly he had loved her; how the 
pride of both had driven him from his home that even¬ 
ing, and to the sin of which he had been guilty, and she 
shuddered at the brink to which both had been drawing 
nigh. 

She put back the thick hair from his broad, burning 
forehead, moaning all the time over the unconscious man, 
words of love and tenderness, which, had they been 
spoken earlier, would never have found him there; and, 
at last, when he had fallen into that heavy slumber, 
which is too frequently the accompaniment of inebriety, 
she went into the parlor, and, kneeling down in the fire- 
shine, prayed the Great Father to forgive her sin, and 
grant unto her that “meek and quiet spirit” which is 
the chief ornament of woman. 

During all that long night she hung over his pillow, 
bathing his forehead, and watching his restless move¬ 
ments in his troubled slumber. The woman’s heart was 
awakened now, and the pride had all gone before its holy 
whisperings. 



IN MARRIED LIFE. 


IT 


The gray dawn was streaking the east, when, weary 
with her night’s watching, Mrs. Howard once more re¬ 
paired to her parlor, and, throwing herself on the lounge, 
was soon in a heavy slumber. 

The sunlight laughed brightly through the muslin cur¬ 
tains that draped the window, and Henry Howard opened 
his eyes a moment—the story of the by-gone night flashed 
into his mind—he closed them; I shall never be able 
to look Ellen in the face again,” he murmured. 

At last he arose, and went into the parlor. She was 
lying there, her cheek pillowed on one white hand, and 
her long, luxuriant curls sweeping the carpet. 

He bent down and kissed her very softly; a tear fell 
on her forehead—she opened her eyes. 

“ Oh ! Henry,” and the soft arms were wrapped around 
his neck, and the white cheok laid on his own, “ I have 
been so wretched. You do not know—you can not 
dream of all I have suffered during the last two days, 
and last night, Henry, it seemed as if it would kill 
me! ” 

11 And I deserve that it should me, Nellie. You see, 
I was very desperate last night, when I left you, for a 
terrible fear has been haunting me, ever since I made 
that cruel speech to you—a fear that you did not love 
me. It was this that drove me to that dreadful act last 
evening. And I feared you would never forgive me for 
this; look up, my sweet wife, and tell me, with those 
dear blue eyes, that you do ? ” 

“ And now, Henry,” said Mrs. Howard, as her husband 
was leaving home very late that morning, “ we have 
promised that the past shall be forgiven and forgotten— 
will you promise me one thing more? it would make 
me so very happy.” 

2 



18 


FIRST QUARRELS 


“ Well, wliat is it Ellen? I am willing to do anything 
for your happiness.” 

“It is that you sign the pledge this very day.” 

He did so, and when an angry thought came to the 
heart, or an angry word would try to get through the 
lips of Mrs. Howard, she thought of that pledge, and it 
was a bond of peace between her and her husband.—• 
Virginia F. Townsend . 



I 


IN MARZtIED LIFE. 


19 


Wht Hal* ia tta 

“ I THINK this is the result of burn,” said Mrs. Wilson, 
pointing to an injury lately discovered in a new carpet. 
“ It appears to me as if some careless servant had let fall 
a red-hot poker upon it.” 

“ 0 dear, no; it is not a bit like a burn; it is a cut, 
most assuredly,” said Mr. Wilson, stooping to re-ex¬ 
amine it. 

“ A cut! ” repeated the lady, with some energy and 
surprise. 

“ A cut, my dear ! ” reiterated the husband; “ it has 
been done with a knife, and, most likely, while splitting 
wood, or perhaps cutting sand-paper for polishing the 
bars of the grate.” 

Mrs. W. “ Why, my dear, the edges of the hole do not 
meet, as they would do if it were a cut; there is a space 
where the piece has been burned out. Look again, and 
you will see what I mean.” 

Mr. W. “ So far from it, the edges have been raveled 
out by the action of the broom in sweeping, and they 
positively wrap over. If you will give yourself the trouble 
to look carefully, you will find what I say is true.” 

Mrs. W. “ As to trouble , Mr. Wilson, I am not gene¬ 
rally very sparing of my trouble; and as to carefulness , 
I only wish every body in this house was equally careful. 
But you are always saying these unkind things. Umph ! 
a cut, indeed ! why, I can almost smell the singeing 
now.” 

Mr. W. “ That is quite impossible.” 



20 


FIRST QUARRELS 


Mrs. W. “1 suppose you will charge me with false¬ 
hood next. Do you mean to say that I tell you an 
untruth ? ” 

Mr. W. “ I mean to say that it is a cut, and nothing 
but a cut. It is utterly impossible that that kind of hole 
should result from a burn. Ah ! you may look as angry 
as you please. I say again it is a cut.” 

Mrs. W. “ Angry! did you say angry, Mr. Wilson ? 
I really wish we could see ourselves. You are extremely 
ready to charge me with being angry. Now, the truth is, 
I do not care that [furiously dashing a plate of nutshells, 
which she had been cracking, behind the fire] whether 
it is a cut or a burn; but I do care to be spoken to 
in this shameful manner. Angry, indeed ! it was not 
always so—you never used to bring such charges against 
me.” 

Mr. W. “ Well, you are not angry now, I suppose ? 
Why, your very eyes flash fire, and your face is red with 
rage.” 

Mrs. W. “Not quite so red as your’s, sir, nor from the 
same cause. I think you have no stones to throw about 
red faces, A man that can drink a bottle of port at a 
sitting—at least with very little help—may well have a 
red face, and a hot temper too, for that matter, as I pretty 
well know to my cost.” 

Mr. W. “ You know to your cost! What do you 
mean, madam ? ” 

Mrs. W. “ 0 ! nothing, sir—nothing at all, I mean 
nothing, and I care for nothing.” 

Mr. W. “ Then be silent.” 

Mrs. W. “I shall not; I shall say just what I please, 
and talk as long as I please.” 

Mr. W. “ Then quit my presence, madam, and talk to 



IN MARRIED LIFE. 


21 


yourself, for I will not put up with your insolence; and 
I wonder how you dare act as you do.” 

Mrs. W. “ Dare ! Mr. Wilson, did you say dare ? I 
say, then, in answer, that I wonder, when you take cer¬ 
tain circumstances into consideration, I do really, I say, 
wonder at you. Becollect, sir, my position; you forget 
yourself. ” 

Mr. W. “1 do not know what you mean.” 

Mrs. W. “ Ay, ay, it is all very well to pretend you 
do not know what I mean. Whose money was it that 
enabled you, when you were—?” 

Mr. W.— Interrupting —“ And who was it that raised 
you from a tradesman’s back parlor to the rank of2 lady? 
I am a gentleman, madam—was born such, you will 
please to remember. Position, indeed! as if money 
gave position.” 

Mrs. W. “ A gentleman horn ! ha, ha ! And pray 
who would be clear-sighted enough to select the gentle¬ 
man born from the beggar, if money were out of the 
question ? A fine sort of figure your gentlemanly birth 
would have made without icealth, sir —my wealth—my 
wealth, bestowed upon you ” 

Mr. W. “ Silence, madam, \_much excited ,] hold your 
venomous, rattling tongue. You are a disgrace to your 
sex, and to the name of wife.” 

Mrs. W. “ Thank you, Mr. Elisha Wilson, I thank 
you; and am glad you have at last given me to under¬ 
stand exactly the esteem in which you hold me. This is 
your gratitude to my father for the thousands he threw 
away upon a poor gentleman, and this comes of all your 
fine promises. I tell you what, sir, I will not put up with 
it. I will have a separation, if it takes every farthing of 
my fortune; I will have a separation, I say.” 



22 


FIRST QUARRELS 


Mr. W. “ Do so; do, do, I advise you; better set 
about it now, directly.” „ 

Mrs. W. “ You think I dare not; but I will show 
you that I have a spirit. I will go where you shall never 
discover my abode, and then, perhaps, you may wish you 
had behaved differently, or perhaps you will be ten 
thousand times happier without me.” 

Mr. W. “ You choose to say so, you know, not L” 

Mrs. W. “ Yes, and I repeat it—I dare affirm that you 
would rejoice to be rid of me; and if once I did separate 
from you, I would never return to you again; I would 
die alone, [sobbing hysterically ,] and never plague you 
with my hateful presence—no, not if you were to go on 
your knees and beg of me to do so; I would spurn 
you.” [Suiting her action to the words.~\ 

Mr. W. “ You would have no occasion to apprehend 
my going on my -knees, I assure you ; I should view your 
conduct then, as I view it now, with calm contempt.” 

Mrs. W. “A very calm state, indeed, you are in just 
now.” 

The father of Mrs. Wilson, a wise and venerable man, 
had recently entered the garden near the open window 
of the room where this dispute took place; and having 
caught some of the speeches of both wife and husband, 
the reasonable conclusion he instantly formed was that 
some dire catastrophe had happened—that one or the 
other had committed some disgraceful fault, or, at least, 
had given some serious ground of suspicion. The worthy 
man’s courage began to give way, when he considered 
how thankless an office it generally is to interfere between 
man and wife; but they were his children, and he ven¬ 
tured in, pale with apprehension. 

Mrs. Wilson was sitting at the extreme end of the 



IN MARRIED LIFE. 


23 


room, her chair pushed close against the wall where it 
had arrived by successive jerks backward, at every fresh 
ebullition of passion, while Mr. Wilson was cutting his 
nails to the quick, seated at the utmost opposite side of 
the apartment, each casting at the other an occasional 
glance of vengeance or contempt. 

“ My dear daughter,” the old gentleman began, with 
an air of deep concern, “ what has happened ? ” 

“Ask him” said Mrs. W., pointing to her husband, 
with spiteful looks. 

The old gentleman turned to Mr. W. 

“ Your daughter threatens to leave me, sir,” was the 
reply. 

“ But what for ? ” demanded the father ; “ where lies 
the offense?” 

Each now began simultaneously to repeat the aggra¬ 
vated expressions which had been used on both sides. 
“ He said so and so.” “ She said so and so.” 

“ Stay, my children, stay,” said the father; “ set aside 
all that has been elicited in anger during your quarrel— 
I do not want to hear that—and allow me to ask you 
again, what is the offense, and which of you is the 
aggressor ? ” 

Both were silent. 

“ This is strange,” said the father; “ surely you can 
tell me how this disgraceful scene commenced. There 
must have been some great fault committed.” 

Silence still prevailed. The simple process of common 
sense, which the old gentleman had set to work, carried 
the infatuated couple back to the frivolous origin of their 
quarrel. Nothing could appear more ridiculously absurd 
than the reply which was at last elicited; “We quarreled 
about a hole in the carpet” 



24 


FIRST QUARRELS 


“A what?” said the old gentleman, lifting his hands, 
shrugging his shoulders, as with staring eyes he looked 
aghast, and turned on his heels. “ What a pair of simple¬ 
tons,” said he; “I am ashamed of ye both; go to school 
again and learn to put off childish things ! Truly, as said 
the wisest of men, £ The beginning of strife is as when 
one letteth out water; therefore leave off contention, 
before it be meddled with.’ ” 



IN MARRIED LIFE. 


25 


a Sustasl, item a WttU for §Ia«. 

“ I should think, Ettina, we might have some toast, or 
warm cakes once in a while, for breakfast; I am sick of 
this plain living! ” said Mr. John Weston, with a fretful 
look, as he leaned back in his chair, at the conclusion of 
the morning meal. 

“ I did intend to bake both pies and cake yesterday, 
but baby was so very cross, and a number of persons 
calling in the course of the day, took my leisure time 
was the prudent apology of his wife. 

11 Always some excuse ! ” was the mean exclamation of 
Mr. W., “ I begin to think I shall have to hire a cook, or 
live like a Grahamite all the rest of my days. I think 
it is a pity one woman can’t provide decent food for two. 
I believe I could, even if I had three babies to take care 
of; ” and with these ungracious words, he took up his 
hat, and without a pleasant look, departed to his work. 
This was enough to wound the feelings of any wife, and 
we are not surprised at the sensation produced upon the 
mind of Mrs. W. 

11 Oh! dear, that is too bad ! ” very justly thought she, 
as his words sank deeper and deeper into her heart, and 
stirred up some of its bitterness; “I can’t do everything. 
Willie cried all the time I was getting dinner yesterday, 
until my heart ached for him; and then, those tiresome 
callers! I believe I will never go away from home 
again, and then no one will come here, and I can live 
like a hermit, and work all the time! ” Thus the seeth- 
3 



26 


FIRST QUARRELS 


ing waters rose higher through the outlet of hard thoughts, 
until they swept over nearly all the remembrance of the 
patient forbearance that he had repeatedly exhibited 
toward her, in the three years of their uninterrupted 
married life. 

“ But it won’t do to sit here; I have these dishes to 
wash, and pies to make, and dinner to get, and Willie to 
take care of, too! ” And Mrs. Weston wiped her eyes, 
and began to clear up the table, but every thing went 
wrong. The tears that brought no relief, kept blinding 
her, and hindering her in all she attempted to perform. 
One plate was broken from a valued set; a large grease- 
spot was made on the floor; the fire wouldn’t burn, and 
there were no kindlings. “ I should think husband 
ought to remember some of his own shortcomings,” said 
she, almost audibly, as she took up a knife and tried to 
whittle a few shavings. “ I guess I could complain, too, 
if I pleased,” and then she sobbed quite aloud. 

But the dreariest hours will drag away at last. At a 
quarter to twelve the table was set, the ham and the eggs 
ready, the puddings and potatoes were baked ;—for she 
had said to herself a dozen times in the course of the 
forenoon, that he should not have reason to complain of 
his dinner—the pies were baked, and she was ready to 
receive him in very becoming attire. 

“ I am sorry I spoke so,” thought Mr. Weston, as he 
walked away, “ for Etta is a good wife, and I really had 
no sufficient reason to complain; but I did want a good 
breakfast this morning, and I felt cross about it. How¬ 
ever, I’ll try and not do so any more. I wish I was not 
so quick to find fault. I’ll buy her that book she was 
speaking of the other day, and make her a present of it, 
and I hope it will make amends for my unkindness.” 



IN MARRIED LIFE. 


27 


And with that comforting resolution, he threw aside the 
slight rankling remorse that had disturbed him, and 
whistled and sang at-his work as cheerfully as usual, 
forgetful of his grieved wife, who was pondering over 
his harshness with a bleeding heart. Ah ! if he had 
only acted the manly part at once, and told her he was 
sorry he had spoken so, instead of merely thinking it, it 
would have saved much of this “ vexation of spirit,” and 
made amends for his wrong better than all the presents 
in his power to bestow. lie was the first to blame. He 
saw his fault, and should have hastened to confess it to 
her, who was waiting to “ abundantly pardon.” 

“ Here is the book, Etta, that you were speaking 
about; ” said Mr. Weston, as he stepped into the dining 
room punctually at twelve. “ I know it is an interesting 
one, by the looks of it.” 

“ Thank you ! ” said Etta, rather coldly; “ dinner 
is ready.” And she seated herself at the table, poured 
out the hot, fragrant coffee, kindly passed the bread 
and butter to her husband, and commenced eating in 
silence. 

“ Etta,”—the tone was very different from the morning 
one—“Mrs. Neal sent word by me to you, that Mrs. 
Carson and Mary are coming there to-morrow afternoon, 
and she would like to have you come over. What shall 
I tell her?” 

“ Tell her I have no time to visit. I have enough to 
do at home.” 

“ Why shall I give her that answer, Etta ? Is it 
true ? ” 

“ Yes; I try to work hard as I ought, and still am 
found fault with; and I have come to the conclusion that 
I had better stay at home all the week, and not spend 



28 


FIRST QUARRELS 


any time visiting. If I had some one to provide kind¬ 
lings, or dry wood, or was willing to eat a plain meal 
when the baby was so cross I could hardly get him out 
of my arms, perhaps I might go out, but as it is, I think 
I had better make a slave of myself at once, and always 
stay at home and work.” 

“ I am sorry you have such a hard time; ” was the 
cool remark of Mr. Weston, “ perhaps you wish you were 
a girl again ; do you ? ” 

“ I wish I had a husband that thought I had done 
right sometimes. Perhaps I might have had such a one 

if I had chosen Mr. J-,” was the unwife-like reply, 

and indeed, it was a sentence too much. Mr. Weston 
was exceedingly sensitive on that point, and he left 
the room with a feeling toward his wife entirely new to 
him. 

“ I hope he will find out I won’t bear everything,” 
thought Etta, as his footsteps died away on the walk. 
But after Willie was hushed to sleep, and the noon’s 
work done, and the house all still, with the restlessness 
of an unquiet spirit, she walked out into the garden, and 
down the lane to the clear, pebbly brook, and laved her 
hot brow in its cooling; waters. 

The wind sighed softly in the branches and rustled 
the glossy leaves, then swept far away among the forest 
trees, with voice like the murmuring ocean waves that 
carelessly beat against the shore. Such a sweet peace 
seemed brooding over all nature’s works, that, gradually, 
it soothed Etta’s perturbed mind, and she wandered back 
to the house with a few wild flowers wreathed in her 
hair. Her lip had forgotten its compression and firm¬ 
ness. 

“ I must finish Willie’s dress,” thought Etta, as she 



IN MARRIED LIFE. 


29 


ran softly up stairs to get the materials. They had been 
somehow mislaid, and after searching in all the drawers, 
she opened John’s desk, thinking they might have been 
laid in there by some mistake. A number of loose 
sketches were scattered about, and carelessly she took up 
and opened one after another, until a soft ringlet of her 
own hair fell out of one paper. One brief sentence— 
“ My own dear Etta’s ”—was all the writing the paper 
contained, but rushing back like a flood, came all the 
recollections of the hour when she gave it to him. 
Again and again she pressed it upon her cheek, as 
memory opened wide her book, and brought the past 
close to view. The wakeful night-watches amid the 
howling storm; the fitful dreams of a watery grave for 
him she loved better than words could tell; the anxious 
waiting for letters, and the joyful re-union after months of 
separation, all rose before her with the vividness of life. 
And had this cherished earthly treasure turned to dross, 
a worthless thing ready to cast away? No, no; it could 
not be thus disregarded. 

The reaction had come, as it always will, and as Ettina 
leaned her head low over the note, hot, blinding tears 
fell again, but they were not tears of anger. Her own 
harsh words sounded in her ears, and her injustice to 
one who so seldom erred, filled her heart with penitence. 
Could not she, who so often needed forgiveness, forgive, 
or bear meekly, one instance of blame ? Oh ! if she had 
only governed herself in the morning, and guarded her 
soul and not let the turbulent waters overflow, what a 
day of misery would have been kept out of her experi¬ 
ence. 

Willie’s cry called her down stairs. She took him up, 
clasped him in her arms, and the smiles came back to 



BO 


FIRST QUARRELS 


her face, in answer to his smiles and playful caresses. 
But few stitches were sewed that afternoon, for the walk, 
and musings, and attentions to Willie, took up most of 
the time till five, the hour to prepare supper, and then 
he was placed in the cradle, with the nondescript play¬ 
things of a whip, a tin pan and a spoon—the fire was 
kindled, and the kettle filled for tea. The table was set 
again, and the toast made and covered up close by the 
fire, and warm cakes baked—all done as the clock struck 
six. 

“How will he meet me?” was her thought as she 
went to the window to watch his return. Five — ten 
minutes passed by, and she saw him coming on the walk; 
but his step was not as light as usual, and his head was 
bowed down as if weary in body and mind. 

Etta stepped into the hall as the door opened, she 
reached out her hand, and the words, “ I am so sorry I 
grieved you! ” burst from her lips. 

“ And I am sorry, Etta, I did not say the same to you, 
after my unreasonable fault-finding; for I was sorry, dear 
Etta, before I left the room. Next time I will strive to 
watch and guard against petulance; but if I forget my¬ 
self, I will try to make amends before I go from home, 
and not leave you to ponder over my unkindness in tears, 
till hard thoughts throng in and affect you with bitter¬ 
ness toward me.” 

“I will not tell you, John, what I have resolved, for 
fear I may break my resolution; but I hope God will 
forgive this sinfulness of mine, and give me strength to 
overcome all evil passions, that I may henceforth do 
right in every act of life.” 

Colton says, “ The slightest sorrow for sin is sufficient, 
if it produce amendment: the greatest is insufficient if 



IN MARRIED LIFE. 


31 


it do not.” Therefore, when a husband or wife says, “ I 
am sorry! ” if he or she is sound in mind, we reasonably 
expect that fruits “ meet for repentance,” will be brought 
to view. We should remember, too, that to cure a vice, 
is greater than to punish it.” 



32 


FIRST QUARRELS 


IfMrijtafl fe IftoWM- 

There is a grey-haired gentleman in New York, a 
retired merchant, whose bland and hearty countenance 
may be seen every fair day in Broadway, through the 
window of his carriage, as he takes his airing. There is 
nothing ostentatious about his equipage—none of that 
labored display, unfortunately characteristic of too many 
in New York. He does not ape the habits of a foreign 
aristocracy, by attiring his servants in liveries; and his 
carriage, though evidently of costly manufacture, is so 
barren of tinsel, and of so unpretending a construction, 
that the passer by, as his eye falls upon it in the midst 
the ambitious “ turn-outs ” so numerous in Broadway, 
would never suspect its occupant to be the master of un¬ 
bounded wealth—capable of buying up nine hundred 
and ninety-nine of the bedizened and bewhiskered aspi¬ 
rants, who dash by him as he leisurely rumbles along, in 
their flashy vehicles. 

lie is often accompanied by his wife and daughter; 
the former preserving, in the wane of life, traces of love¬ 
liness ; the latter in the dawning of lustrous beauty. 
The dress of these ladies corresponds with the elegant 
simplicity—that test of true elevation and real gentility— 
which we have remarked upon as distinguishing the 
husband and father. The jewels they wear are few and 
tasteful; and, in their plain and becoming attire, they do 
not make their bodies locomotive milliners’ signs, nor 
tell a tale, by extravagance or outreness of display, that, 



IN MARRIED LIFE. 


33 


conscious of deficiency in mental superiority, they would 
make a parade of the gaudiness of their dress atone for 
the emptiness of their minds. 

This gentleman came to the city when a young man, 
a poor adventurer. lie left his father’s humble fire-side 
in the country, with a blessing and a little pack of clothes; 
and with a five dollar note in his pocket, all he was worth 
in the world, he turned his steps toward New York— 
ignorant of mankind—of the world’s guilt and crime— 
of the thousands seeking, like himself, a livelihood, who 
congregate in this moral whirlpool; but full of expecta¬ 
tion—of hope—of determination—of energy. It was dis¬ 
tant several days’ travel, but he did not greatly diminish 
his scanty funds, for the farmer’s door at which he applied 
at nightfall, was ever open to receive him, and a few hours 
of labor the succeeding day requited (for he would have 
scorned to accept of charity) the hospitality extended to 
him. He sought a cheap lodging-house, when at last he 
trod, with eager foot, the -streets of the city \ and, although 
wondering curiosity was awake, he wasted no time in 
idleness, but sedulously employed himself in seeking 
occupation. Appearances are deceitful, and it is danger¬ 
ous to put faith in them; but the merchant who listened 
to Jacob Flagg’s story, and, taking the honesty depicted 
in his face as an endorsement of its truth, made him his 
porter, never had reason to regret it. 

For four years he was a faithful servant: diligent, 
industrious, honest, frugal. Closing his duties soon after 
nightfall, his evenings were his own; and by the light 
of his lamp, he devoted them to the improvement of his 
mind. At the end of the four years, with what he had 
saved from his earnings, and some little assistance from 
his employer, he opened a small retail shop in an obscure 



34 


FIRST QUARRELS 


street, wherein he vended a small stock of dry goods. 
From the beginning he succeeded; slowly indeed, yet 
he was successful. And the majority may succeed in 
precisely the same way. “Whatever one’s income may be, 
however trifling, let him live within it, and he is even 
then prospering and to prosper. In a great city, frugality 
never finds itself at fault. Subsistence and a home may 
be procured, meeting to any quality of means; and he 
who casts false pride out of doors, and indulges rather in 
that more ennobling satisfaction, the consciousness that 
ho is wronging no fellow-being by unjust self-indulgence, 
is laying a foundation for prosperity that nothing can 
shake ; for though the goods of earth may gather slowly, 
the soul will be heaping up treasures. Extravagance is 
a comparative term; and he who, with an income of a 
few hundreds, exceeds its bounds in his expenditures, is 
more extravagant than the possessor of millions, whose 
lavish hand scatters thousands upon thousands from his 
revenue. Jacob Flagg had a little something left of his 
first year’s gains, and a yet larger sum at the close of the 
second—tenfold after the third. 

As his condition improved, he cautiously and advisedly 
improved his mode of living. He removed to a more 
genteel boarding-house—and then a better still—ever 
careful, however, not to deceive himself and run ahead 
of duty. The second change was rife with momentous 
influences upon his destiny; for there boarded in the 
same house a widow and her pretty daughter, the last an 
heiress, worth a thousand dollars. This widow, whom we 
will call Watkins—was not overstocked with wit, and 
piqued herself as much on her slender jointure and the 
thousand dollars Helen was to possess on her wedding 
day, as though her hundreds had been thousands, and her 



IN MARRIED LIFE. 


35 


daughter’s thousand a million. Helen was sensible— 
very sensible, and resisted, in a good degree, the unhappy 
influences of her mother’s weakness ; but most women, 
not being conversant with business, do not appreciate the 
true value of money; and it is not amazing that Helen, 
when it was so constantly a theme of exultation and 
pride with her mother, should imagine at least, her 
thousand dollars a fortune. 

Flagg, after a time, loved her—loved her with his 
whole heart, and was as tenderly loved in return. He 
had always determined with an honest pride, never to fall 
in love with a woman possessing money; “ it should never 
be cast in his teeth by his wife’s grumbling relatives that 
he was supported by her”—and there are few who will 
accuse him of swerving from his principles, although he 
did love Helen Watkins, and she had a thousand dollars. 

He married her; and on the wedding day, pursuant 
to her father’s will, the thousand dollars were placed in 
Flagg’s hands. Doing as he thought best for the mutual 
advantage, he invested it in his business, and instead 
of dashing out with an establishment, remained at the 
boarding-house. For a time all went well. A loving 
bride thinks little, for months, of any thing but love 
and happiness, and Helen never spoke of the thousand 
dollars. Flagg furnished her with money sufficient for 
her wants, and indeed for her desires—the engrossment 
of her thoughts otherwise limiting her wishes. But when 
a year had gone by, she often asked for articles of dress 
or luxury—luxury to them—which her husband could 
not afford to give, and gently but resolutely denied her. 
“It’s very strange,” thought Helen to herself, “that when 
he has got all that thousand dollars of mine, he won’t 
let me have what I want.” Her mother fostered these 



36 


FIRST QUARRELS 


complaining thoughts, and on an occasion when she had 
set her heart on something which he refused to purchase, 
she ventured to vent her disappointment in reproaches; 
and referred to the thousand dollars, which she was sure 
she ought to be at liberty to spend, since it was all her 
own. Flagg was astonished, indignant; but restraining 
himself, kindly reasoned with her, and represented to her 
how paltry a sum, in reality, a thousand dollars was, and 
how long ago it would have been exhausted, had it been 
in her own possession, by the procurement of half the 
articles she had solicited. But her pride prevented her 
from listening with calmness; and she only gathered 
enough of his explanation to excite, in her warped judg¬ 
ment, the suspicion that it was only given to excuse 
himself for his meanness. 

In a short time the thousand dollars came up again, 
and again; the last time, immediately after breakfast. 
Flagg could bear no more. Without a rejoinder, he sud¬ 
denly left the house. His wife saw that he was more 
than ordinarily moved — that his face wore a startling 
expression; and regretful, penitent, and alarmed, she 
called earnestly and tearfully to him to return, but it was 
too late. It was stormy and wintry, when Flagg left his 
home that morning; it was, too, at the very climax of 
one of those commercial crises when the rich feel poor 
and the poor, beggarly ‘ r and Flagg, breasting the storm 
bravely thus far, had congratulated himself that in a few 
days more he should be safe, and his fortunes golden for¬ 
ever. How bitter were his sensations as he came down 
Broadway that morning, plashing through the rain ! He 
loved Helen dearly—he knew that she loved him. Their 
days were all happiness, save when marred by this one 
foible j and let come what would, he determined to give 



IN MAKEIED LIFE. 


37 


her “ a lesson that should last her the rest of her 
life.” 

He did not return to dinner. Helen waited for him, 
and robbed of her appetite by anxiety and remorse, she 
would not go down herself, but sat all the afternoon look¬ 
ing from the window into the deserted and dreary street; 
weeping sometimes as though her heart would break. 
When daylight had nearly gone, and she began to strain 
her eyes to distinguish objects without, she discovered 
him approaching. She could not—she dared not—go to 
meet him, but when he opened the^ door, she could not 
repress a shriek at the haggardness of his countenance. 
He came to her side, and taking her hand, said, in a voice 
broken by exhaustion and emotion, while he extended 
with the other a roll of bank notes :— 

“ Helen, there are your thousand dollars. I have had 
toil, and anguish, and pain enough to get them for you, 
in these dreadful times, but I had resolved, and would not 
be disappointed. Take them, do with them as you like, 
and we will be wholly happy; for you can never reproach 
me more ! ” 

“ No, no, not for the world ! ” sobbed Helen, sinking 
on her knees for shame ; “ oh ! husband, forgive me, for¬ 
give me I I shall never be guilty again ! ” and she tried 
to make him accept the notes. 

He was, however, resolute ; and well knowing from his 
character, that what he had determined on as a proper 
course, he would not swerve from, she dismissed the 
subject, and they were afterwards, indeed, happy. He 
never asked her to what purpose she devoted her thou¬ 
sand dollars, but it was plain enough she expended them 
neither for dress nor ornament. If any thing, she was 
more frugal than ever; and he was compelled to question 



38 


FIRST QUARRELS 


her of her wants and wishes, when he was disposed to 
gratify them; as he was, liberally and freely, so soon as 
his prosperity would authorize it. 

Reader, this Flagg is the same hale old fellow whom 
we have spoken of as riding in his carriage in Broadway; 
and that wife is this same Helen. That daughter—ah, 
I can tell a story of her! She is to be married next week 
to a young man not worth a penny—but who loves her, 
and cares not a pin for her father’s money, confiding, as 
he does, in his own energies, which the old gentleman 
took care to make gure of before he gave his consent. 
As to that thousand dollars , it has been accumulating this 
twenty years; has been added to constantly by the mother, 
and now, a good round sum — we have it from sure 
authority—at least twenty thousand, will be a gift to her 
daughter on the marriage day; but we warrant you, she 
will hear the whole story of “ the thousand dollars,” and 
be warned not to suspect an honest, high-minded, loving 
man, of marrying for money l 

“ It’s not in titles nor in rank; 

It’s not in wealth like London bank, 

To purchase peace and rest. 

It’s not in making more and more;* 

It’s not in houses, lands or store, 

To make us truly blest. 

If happiness have not her seat 
And center in the breast, 

We may be wise, or rich, or great, 

But never can be blest.”— H. F. Harrington. 



IN MARRIED LIFE. 


39 


JfeJtlsfciwiMi; or, plaintiff am! irfeailaat. 

Many a marriage has resulted in unhappiness, not so 
much because the husband and wife were unadapted to 
each other, as because a certain undefinable something, 
perhaps best named selfishness, came in between them, 
and checked the communion of their confidence, and 
divided the oneness of their lives. It may be deemed a 
trifling thing for lovers to speak sharp words now and 
then; they may make up at their next meeting; but for 
those whose hearts have come for lifelong to one home, 
it is not a trifling thing: cold looks then, unkind words 
then, however lightly given, however lightly spoken, are 
full of danger, and may be of destiny. How often has 
one chilling glance, one cutting word, prompted by 
nothing, perhaps, but this unaccountable flattery of self, 
separated those whom affection had united, and made 
home a hated spot, instead of a heart-place! 

When Gordon Wilber and Fanny Clifford were married 
they would not have believed that one harsh word could 
make their hearts cold toward each other; nay, they 
would not have dreamed that the one harsh word between 
them even could be uttered. Yet it was uttered; and 
that one harsh word was mother to many more that were 
harsher and harsher still, till a cloud of gloom thickened 
at their hearth-stone, and shut out heaven. 

“ Fanny, I would rather not go to-night, if it will not 
disappoint you too much, I am so tired.” 

“ If you were kept at home as closely as I am, Gordon, 



40 


FIRST QUARRELS 


I presume you would be disappointed at such a promise¬ 
breaking as that.” 

Little Fanny Wilber was thus plaintiff; and more in 
the manner in which she said it than in what she said; 
it was a tone of pettishness, a look of vexation ; and Gor¬ 
don, who had a spirit no less fiery and impetuous than it 
was generous and forgiving, became defendant at once. 

“ I should like to be £ kept at home ’ a little more, 
Fanny; but our living must be earned, you know, and it 
is I that must be kept away to earn it. I want a little 
rest once in a while, shouldn’t you think?” 

“ Mr. Wilber, you needn’t ask me to go out with you 
any more ! I—” 

“ Fanny! ” 

The pretty name of Fanny had never before been 
uttered in that home with such an emphasis ; it was as if 
a clap of thunder had miraculously pronounced it, so 
unexpectedly and shockingly it came. It was past love’s 
belief; Fanny could not credit her ears. But when her 
astonished eyes, looking Gordon full in the face, saw the 
wild passion come up there like the rush of a tempest, 
her sick heart knew that he had said Fanny as he had 
never said it before, no, never ! 

And what was little Fanny Wilber’s first emotion? It 
was a thrilling, torturing anguish, which made her breath 
come quick and gasping, and her brain throb and reel. 
0, if she had only yielded herself to her heart then, and 
done its bidding, how many a bursting ache might she 
have spared it in the future ! But, just as she was about 
to fling her arms round her husband’s neck, and let her 
tears plead with him for his harshness, that vague some¬ 
thing—false pride—obstinacy—call it selfishness—rose 
and rebuked the woman in her soul, and froze it to calm- 



IN MARRIED LIFE. 


41 


ness in a moment. Her lip quivered once or twice ; 
her eyes moistened, but that was all: the fount of 
tears was suddenly iced over by the one breath of 
selfishness. She thought of nothing but her wrong; 
felt nothing but resentment. 

And her husband, who, when he saw on her face the 
shadow of that tearful cloud in her heart, had been 
ready to catch her to his breast and implore her forgive¬ 
ness, was now checked by selfishness answering selfishness. 
He beheld unforgiveness in her countenance; and pres¬ 
ently he believed it was as much her fault as his own 
that he had spoken so sternly; and then, come to think 
of it, he had said nothing but Fanny , after all: what was 
Fanny, that he should beg forgiveness for that one word? 
No; she should rather ask him to forgive her for her 
vexatious spirit toward him, who devoted his whole life 
to her comfort and happiness. Well, he would not be 
the first to speak, though she looked icicles at him for a 
twelvemonth. 

With such an impassable gulf between them, there 
they sat, at the same hearth-stone, in silence, plaintiff and 
defendant, each justifying self, each accusing the other. 
The evening—0, how wearily long! — wore away, but 
brought no compromise, no reconciliation. Neither 
spoke, and their faces, averted from each other, were 
overclouded with a cold, obstinate dismalness, which was 
a shadow of the gloom of their spirits. Their customary 
pleasant occupations of the evening—reading, singing, 
mutual assistance in study, and the like—were omitted, 
wdiile they sat silently cherishing that cold viper, Selfish¬ 
ness, giving it life to sting their affection to death. Pain¬ 
fully still they sat till late bed-time; for each felt it 
would be a concession to make the first movement; then, 

4 



42 


FIRST QUARRELS 


finally wearied out, they retired, one after the other, 
without the interchange of a word. They had never 
before gone to sleep without saying good-by; but now 
they could not speak even the words of common courtesy ; 
and how could they take upon their lips so sweet a word 
as that ? Perhaps they did not sleep, and, therefore, had 
not need to say the word of separation. Perhaps they 
slept, and dreamed all night of sorrow, because they had 
not charmed their slumber with the spell of that dear 
word, uttered in love. 

But, whether they watched or dreamed, in the morning 
they were both very, very unhappy; for they found 
themselves more unyielding and farther apart than ever. 
No friendly greeting, no accustomed kiss, no word, no 
look for each other: all chilly silence and sullen aver¬ 
sion. Breakfast was dispatched like a prison meal, and 
Gordon started off to his business with a proud step and 
in silence. How far he proceeded with that haughty 
bearing may be left for conjecture; suffice it, that he 
went out of sight of his home with it, and never once 
looked back to see how proud and unbending his little 
Panny, too, appeared, as she pursued her morning occu¬ 
pations, without noticing his departure. 

But when Fanny felt sure that her husband was too 
far off to hear her, now alone with her heart, it got the 
better of her directly; and she leaned her face down on 
her two hands, and sobbed aloud. She wept till her own 
sweet blue eyes were swollen and bloodshot; till her 
heart ached in her throat; till her brain throbbed almost 
to bursting; and yet no thought of blame did she enter¬ 
tain toward Fanny Wilber. No, she was too selfish for 
that. She had been the “ little Fanny ” of the paternal 
home, loving and petted; she had been the “ fair Fanny 



IN MARRIED LIFE. 


43 


Clifford ” of society, amiable and flattered; she had till 
now been the “ dear Fanny ” of Gordon Wilber’s new 
life, fond and loved; and what, what had she done to 
deserve such treatment as this ? O, Gordon! thought 
she, what devoted love you have insulted, what feelings 
you have outraged ! 

Ah, selfish Fanny Wilber! Better you had never 
entered the sacred state of matrimony at all, than to have 
entered it without better understanding the necessity 
of compromise in it, of concession, of reciprocal charity, 
and of mutual self-denial. The married should not be 
two selves, Fanny; not myself and thyself; but they 
should be only ourself; and you should think that, in 
blaming your husband, you are blaming this one self 
that you both are. 

Had Fanny regarded it thus, she could have gone 
down into her own soul, and, looking from it, have seen 
her poor husband, as soon as he was out of sight, losing 
his haughty air, and seeming to grope along the street, 
as if it were all dark from the center of his life every 
way to the very heaven. His heart was lead, lead. He 
felt that he had done very wrong; that he had spoken 
as, had he stopped one moment to reflect, he would not 
have spoken for the world; and he condemned himself 
without mercy. But then his wife ought to have con¬ 
sidered his impulsiveness, and forborne to exasperate 
him. Why should she have chosen his weakest point, 
and tempted him there ? Must she not have designed 
to provoke his temper? If she did, then she was even 
more in fault than he. And if she did not, she was as 
much so; for she became angry with him as .well as he 
with her—and first, too ! 

Thus did Gordon Wilber defend himself to his reason; 



44 


FIRST QUARRELS 


"but his heart would not admit the plea. Several times 
before he reached his place of business he was tempted 
to return home, and tell Fanny how sorry he was, how 
remorseful, how repentant. But as often as his heart 
prompted him right, his selfishness prompted him wrong; 
and all day the latter whispered his spirit full of evil, 
and held him away from his duty. He did not go home 
at noon as usual, but dined at a hotel. If, while he was 
gloomily seated at this meal, he could have seen the 
interior of his home, the table spread, and his little wife 
waiting for him, pale and haggard with the long fore¬ 
noon’s anguish, and pressing back the tea'rs from her sad 
eyes, that she might meet him proud—had he seen all 
this, could the wind have borne him home to repentance 
as swiftly as he would have longed to go ? He came very 
nigh seeing it once, soon after he had seated himself at 
dinner, and he half rose from the table with the impulse 
to fly and atone for all; but suddenly right before him 
appeared the face of his wife, with its haughty, forbidding 
look of the preceding evening, and utterly shut out the 
scene. He would have his revenge ! 

Let lonely, watching, weeping Fanny Wilber say how 
well he had it; how one of the clock struck upon her 
heart; how two brought a double pang, dull, deep, deeper 
than tears; and how each added hour, ticked off more 
slowly than ever hours had gone through clock before, 
alarmed, thrilled, agonized her more and more. What 
if he had been taken very sick ? Yet that could .not be, 
or else she would have been informed. But what if he 
had fallen into the river—mind, fallen —and drowned ? 

One—two—three—four—five—six ! Supper was ready, 
supper was waiting. Six o’clock, and he not come ! 
Fanny could not bear another hour : one more stroke 



IN MARRIED LIFE. 


45 


of the clock, and he away, would break her heart. She 
would go and seek—but supposing she should meet him, 
what could she say ? Her graceful little figure straitened 
up haughtily at this thought, and her lip slightly curled 
for a moment; but her poor, loving, bleeding heart could 
not be held back any more by such a pride as that, and 
she began to put on her out-door apparel; when all at 
once a noise was heard at the gate. Suddenly wrapping 
all day’s sorrow in her selfishness, she hurriedly put 
away her things, and stood ready to meet rebuke with 
rebuke, sternness with sternness, silence with silence. 
"When Gordon opened the door, and beheld his wife look¬ 
ing so cold, so distant, so unyielding, he well-nigh forgot 
the resolution he had formed on his way home, and was 
about to seat himself at the supper-table in silence, when 
the pale, haggard look of her face caught his eye, and 
smote upon his heart like a stunning blow. He advanced 
to her, saying, in a faltering voice, 

“ Fanny, Oh, how I have wronged you! Can you not 
forgive me, darling, for ”— 

He choked upon that word, caught his wife in his 
arms, and cried like a child. And Fanny, who thought 
she had long ago wept her tears all away, leaned her face 
upon his breast, and sobbed with him. Long did they 
mingle their tears without speaking; and at length, 
when he had recovered himself so as to talk coherently, 
he told her how much he had suffered for his harshness 
toward her, how sincerely he repented of it, and how 
earnestly he desired her forgiveness. How noble and 
magnanimous he was, thought Fanny, as she smiled to 
him through her tears; and she forgave him with all her 
soul, and almost wished she had tenfold more to forgive. 
And yet it was enough; for, as her heart was, he had 



46 


FIRST QUARRELS 


poisoned twenty-four hours of two loving lives, and 
caused one to suffer innocently. She loved her husband 
more than ever for his generous spirit in confessing his 
fault; yet, she thought, he did no more than his duty. 
If she herself had acted so wrongly, she would have 
done the same. 

That was what she thought; but what thought her 
husband? When he had acknowledged his offense, and 
obtained her glad pardon, he expected she would crimi¬ 
nate herself and beg forgiveness of him, and then he 
should have the sweet pleasure of gratitude in pardoning 
her for having pardoned him. But she never once 
alluded to her own share of the blame. Could it be that 
she had forgotten it? Bid she not remember how she 
had acted and what she had said ? It seemed even so; 
and for the first time Gordon Wilber perceived how blind 
is selfishness. 

But the two were quite happy again, notwithstanding 
Gordon felt as if there were an incompleteness in their 
reconciliation, a something lost, which his heart failed to 
find. The evening glided away swiftly and pleasantly; 
and not till very late in the night did they say 
good-by. 

For many weeks again their happiness was uninter¬ 
rupted. Both carefully shunned all approaches to 
misunderstanding, and were very charitable toward each 
other. If they had known their enemy, perhaps they 
never would have wrangled any more. Or if Fanny had 
been as generous as Gordon was at their first quarrel, 
this enemy would have been vanquished, and the danger 
removed. But, as it was, under somewhat similar cir¬ 
cumstances another disturbance, deeper than the former, 
divided them for several days, when Fanny was plaintiff 



IN MARRIED LIFE. 


47 


again, and her husband defendant. He at length asked 
and received pardon as before, though not till he had 
freely indulged that unconscious spirit in himself, which 
he now so plainly perceived and so greatly deprecated 
in his wife. 

This second quarrel, so made up, rendered the next 
more readily approachable; and the next, compromised 
in like manner, was but a mild precedent to the one that 
succeeded it; till finally Gordon and Fanny Wilber’s 
home—with the little boy now, that should have been 
to it a charm of harmony—had only glimpses of clear 
sky between great clouds of storm. Fanny would 
thoughtlessly say some taunting thing, and Gordon’s im¬ 
petuous nature, growing daily more uncontrollable, would 
thoughtlessly rise to resent it; bitter words would follow; 
and long days of sullenness would succeed, terminated 
at last by his acknowledgment in words or actions, that 
he had done wrong. 

Thus the suit of selfishness was prosecuted, and plain¬ 
tiff and defendant became less and less reconcilable as 
the suit went on. She never doubted that he was blame- 
able, because he generally confessed it; and he deemed 
her so, because she never confessed. How soon this 
state of affairs might have severed the ties of home, and 
estranged man and wife forever, had it not been for the 
simple prattle of a little child ! 

“ Mamma,” said little Frank Wilber one morning to 
his mother, after she and Gordon had quarreled, and the 
latter had gone out, “ don’t you love papa? ” 

“ Yes, my darling; ” and Fanny colored scarlet, to 
such a question, even in the presence of her little boy. 

“Well then,” continued he, why do you say ugly 
words to him ? ” 



48 


FIRST QUARRELS 


“ Because lie says ugly words to me, my child,” an¬ 
swered Fanny, filling up with a strange emotion. 

“ But he never says them to me, mamma; and I am 
sure he couldn't; for I love him so well that I should 
keep kissing him when he tried to; and then he wouldn’t 
say any thing but £ My own little boy,’ and kiss me back 
again, you know, mamma.” 

Fanny took the pretty child to her bosom, and almost 
smothered him with kisses, and wet his face with her 
tears, weeping all the while aloud. Poor child, he cried, 
too; but he did not know for what; and if he had asked 
his mother twenty times more earnestly than he did, she 
could not have told him. At length, with the great drops 
chasing down her cheeks, she fixed him for school, kissed 
him again and again, and sent him away. Then, shutting 
herself in her room, through all her blinding tears she 
saw herself as she really was ; she saw her husband 
irritable and violent, but generous and yielding; she saw 
how all the concessions had come from him, and how 
almost all the provocations had proceeded from herself, 
trivial though they were, yet enough to rouse so impul¬ 
sive a temperament as his; and she saw how a little dis¬ 
interested love might have prevented all their inliarmony 
and unhappiness, and how it might yet bring back peace 
to their home. To see all this, with so affectionate and 
truly good a heart as Fanny Wilber’s, was to resolve to 
be better and do better. Fanny brushed away her tears, 
and looked glad, as she formed the resolution. Then, 
with the sweet resolve in her heart, she bathed her face, 
and cheerfully set about her household duties. 

When, at a late hour, Gordon returned for dinner, far 
from mollified from the mood of the morning by the 
unpropitious business transactions of the forenoon, Fanny 



IN MARRIED LIFE. 


49 


and little Frank were at dinner, as it was nearly the hour 
for him to go back to school. Gordon’s selfishness came 
uppermost, and this, added to the memory of the morn¬ 
ing, fired him instantly. 

“ After the first table have done, I suppose I may be 
permitted to eat my dinner,” he began. “1 can wait. 
Vulgar people who marry above their condition in life 
must ‘ learn to labor and to wait,’ I presume Longfellow 
meant. I have labored and I have waited ; but I am used 
worse and worse every day; and, Mrs. Wilber, if you 
imagine I will put up with this state of things much 
longer, you shall soon find you are laboring under a grand 
mistake. My patience is about exhausted. I don’t intend 
to endure your pettishness and insulting behavior any 
more. Now Fanny, I don’t want to hear one word from 
your lips, and I won’t.” 

While Gordon, leaning forward in his chair, with 
burning face and flashing eyes, was thus pouring out 
his passion as rapidly as his breath would permit, Fanny 
felt the hot blood rush up and throb in her cheeks; but 
the sweet, imploring look of her boy, whose eyes were 
swimming in tears, bade it back; and then she sat, as 
meek as her little child, and waited till her husband 
would let her speak. He, fresh from his excitement, and 
sullen with the aversion he felt toward his wife, had no 
disposition to eat; and he turned his chair to the window, 
and sat gazing out in silent bitterness. Now Fanny rose 
and noiselessly glided to where he sat with his back 
turned toward her. Without giving him any other warn¬ 
ing of her presence, she softly stole round to his side, 
and, putting her arm gently round his neck before he 
knew she was there, laid her soft cheek against his, and 
murmured, in a tremulous, broken voice, 

5 



50 


FIRST QUARRELS 


u Dear husband, won’t you forgive your own Fanny, 
and love her as you used to do ? ” 

The man, whose heart but an instant before had been 
cold iron giving out sparks to flinty selfishness, turned to 
his wife with a look of astonishment, and then, leaning 
his head against her bosom, gave way to a loud and 
uncontrollable burst of anguish. His spirit was subdued 
to the tenderness of a babe’s; she could lead him now to 
the end of life with a single thread. “ 0, my dear Fanny, 
how could I be so cruel! ” was all he could speak for a 
long while. The defendant was utterly lost; both were 
plaintiffs now; not plaintiffs of each other any more; 
plaintiffs of self now. 

When they could find voice again, with little Frank 
between them on the sofa—glad little Frank, who had 
now learned what he and his mother were crying about 
in the morning—Gordon and Fanny Wilber told each 
other all how willful, how wicked, and how unhappy 
myself had been; and resolved all how forgiving, how 
harmonious, and how peaceful ourself should be; and 
repeated, and could not stop repeating, all how they 
loved each other now more fondly than before, how each 
would live for the other always thereafter, and how 
selfishness should be banished from their hearts forever. 
And now there is not a better husband, a better wife, a 
happier family in all the land, than you may find at the 
pleasant home of Gordon and Fanny Wilber.— Coates- 
Kinney. 



IN MARRIED LIFE. 


51 


eiw 3m»fon» %mtt 

“ Time to me this truth hath taught,— 

’Tis a truth that’s worth revealing— 

More offend from want of thought, 

Than from want of feeling.”— Charles Swain. 

A young pair who were married in Pennsylvania, for 
the first two or three months after their union appeared 
to be extremely fond of each other. The wife was one 
of those individuals, who are sometimes easily intoxi¬ 
cated with sportfulness, and after they once commence 
a participation in its somewhat dangerous delights, know 
not when to say, “ So far shalt thou come, and no far¬ 
ther.” The husband was quite of a sober, candid habit; 
but he came so near being an uxorious man at first, that 
any means which his wife employed for the sake of “ lots 
of fun” was generally tolerated, and even sanctioned by 
him, without hesitation. 

But, “ the last feather,” it is said, “ breaks the camel’s 
back,” and one of those little efforts at sport, at last 
overpowered the husband’s endurance. They often chose 
to manifest their mutual affection in childish ways, and 
one of their diversions was, at unwary times, to throw 
cups of cold water upon each other. The wife began the 
sport; the husband retaliated, and when he did so, she 
practically adopted one of Solomon’s proverbs, which 
says, “ He that watereth shall be watered also himself; ” 
and so the watering process was continued at intervals 
for considerable time. Whenever Mr. S. would come 



52 


FIRST QUARRELS 


about the bouse from bis shop, in an unsuspecting 
moment be was apt to be considerably dampened by the 
discharge of a pint or so of the excelsior fluid from the 
hands of Mrs. S. Then, if possible, he would snatch up 
a tin cup, or china mug, and by a series of dextrous 
manoeuverings, endeavor to return the treatment. Mean¬ 
while there would be vociferous laughter on both sides, 
though he laughed more because she did, than because 
of his real delight in the sport. 

But long-continued fun, over which Madam Prudence 
does not preside, is sure to bring a snare. One day when 
Mr. S. was unusually serious from some cause, he came 
to the house to get a drink of water, and being very 
thirsty, and seeing no cup near, he took up the bucket, 
which was of moderate size, and commenced drinking out 
of that. Mrs. S. was still on the alert, and thinking this 
an opportunity too good to be lost, cautiously stepped up 
before him and tilted the entire contents of the bucket 
into his bosom. This water deluged their happiness 
almost as much as Noah’s flood did the earth* A loud 
laugh upon her part ensued, but it did not long endure. 
Coloring with rage, Mr. S. sat the bucket down, and pro¬ 
ceeded to inform her “ that it was now time to stop ;-- 

that such ‘ capers ’ as that, he could not, and would not 
put up with; ” and that, “ if she had any mind of her 
own, he hoped she would not always be acting so foolish.” 
The wife felt that such rude language from her husband 
was more than she could bear, and she replied in terms 
equally warm. Spirited rejoinders were reciprocal for 

* Solomon says, “ Many waters can not drown love,” but 
Saxe says, 

“ Love once was drowned, though reckoned water-proof, 

By the mere dripping of a leaky roof I—Editor. 




IN MARRIED LIFE. 


53 


a short season, and when Mr. S. departed to his work,—. 
when the smoke of the conflict began to disperse, and they 
began to see the numbers of their pleasures and hopes 
that were slain, they both realized that their first quarrel 
had been one of monstrous size. Nor was this the last 
altercation. They have “ stood thick through all the 
ground ” of their connubial experience, and many more 
are likely yet to come, 

The foregoing fully attests the truth of an English 
proverb that says, “ Over-doing a matter is under-doing 
it.” Wedded love is of a delicate texture, and is far more 
liable to injury from practical jokes and heedless jests 
than mere friendship. Silver coins may be jingled 
together considerably, without any very perceivable effect. 
So may the sports of mere friends. But the pure gold 
of conjugal love, thus exercised, will be apt to have some 
of its lustrous impressions worn off*. 

Young husbands, young wives, “ be wise as serpents 
and harmless as doves ” when you jest with each other, 
and in all your married life, 

“ Let no fiery fun 
Rise to a scorching noon.” 



54 


FIRST QUARRELS 


fe Jwi Stow. 


We were sitting at our window, a few days since, con¬ 
versing leisurely with a friend, who, in a somewhat 
complaining spirit was contemplating the shady side of 
life, and mourning the little success he had met with in 
his pecuniary enterprises. We endeavored to cheer him 
as much as possible; said that the future might have 
much in store for him, and that even then his condition 
was far preferable to that of many who might seem to be 
more blest, more fortunate, more successful in the ways 
of the world. But no ; the moody spirit was upon him, 
and he appeared to be determined to despond. At the 
moment, an individual of some distinction passed—one 
of the richest residents of a neighboring city ; and known 
by name and character to both of us, but more particu¬ 
larly to the writer of this sketch. 

“ Ah ! ” said our companion, “ there goes a fortunate 
man. He is to be envied among mortals. He is not only 
rich; he not only can count his wealth by thousands and 
tens of thousands, but he has position and influence in 
society, and possesses the means as well of enjoying him¬ 
self and those immediately around him, as of contribu¬ 
ting, in a liberal spirit, to the necessities of the poor, 
the suffering, and the meritorious. Would that I were 
in his situation f” 

“Alas ! ” we exclaimed, “ how limited are human judg¬ 
ment and foresight! The individual who has just passed, 
and whose circumstances of fortune have so excited your 



IN MARRIED LIFE. 


55 


envy, is far better entitled to your pity. True, he is 
rich — is one of the wealthiest in the land; hut you 
have yet to learn, perhaps, that wealth by no means 
constitutes happiness. You would readily change places 
with him, and he, perhaps, would readily yield all his 
treasure, could his mind be made easy upon one point; 
could he have removed from his heart a withering, an 
eating grief, which, despite the smile which sometimes 
flits across his features, is the dark demon of his life, 
and renders him one of the most unhappy of his kind.” 

Colonel S., at the death of his father, became heir to 
a fortune of $500,000. He possessed many excellent 
qualities of head and of heart, and was disfigured by few 
vices. He mingled freely with the highest moral, 
intellectual, and fashionable circles of the commercial 
Emporium, and his society was sought with avidity. 
At the age of twenty-five, fascinated by the charms of one 
of the loveliest daughters of our land, he visited her 
frequently, paid court to her in the earnest spirit of a 
devoted lover, and, in the course of a few months, won 
and wedded her. The bridal was most brilliant. No 
expense was spared. Thousands were lavished with a 
prodigal hand upon the preliminary arrangements, and 
for months after the honey-moon, the young Colonel—for 
he is now only thirty—was steeped in visions of bliss. All 
this was natural. His taste was refined, his sensibilities 
were acute, his mind was well stored, his fortune was 
immense for this country, and his wife was young, gentle 
and lovely. Then, indeed, was he the object of envy in 
many a circle. 

The bride and groom visited Europe, and were absent 
about a year. There new scenes arrested and excited 
attention, and the gaieties and glories of the Old World, 



56 


FIRST QUARRELS 


of such cities as London, Paris, and Vienna, engrossed all 
their thoughts, and afforded them time scarcely sufficient 
to study each other’s tastes and dispositions, and to 
realize that harmony of soul and of spirit which each, 
in the hour of festival, excitement and romance, had 
fancied would constitute the great charm and spell of 
after existence. But, at last, both became weary of the 
world abroad, and turned their thoughts and faces home¬ 
ward. They were welcomed back by troops of friends; 
they established themselves in a splendid mansion in the 
great metropolis of the Empire State; and then, in their 
quiet hours, their moments of thoughtfulness, of calm 
and of inquiry, they reviewed the past, the present, and 
the future. The first flush of excitement had gone by. 
The wildness of that delicious dream of young existence 
had, in a measure, subsided, and the mind, the heart, the 
thoughts, the tastes, and the feelings became matters of 
closer scrutiny. Then it was that slowly, but steadily, 
the conviction forced itself upon the mind of the Colonel, 
that he had committed a frightful error—that he had 
wedded a gentle, susceptible, and confiding creature, 
had possessed her hand, but had never subdued and 
conquered her heart. 

For a long time he resisted this conclusion. It was 
too appalling to be entertained. His wife, too, was every 
thing that she should be, in propriety, in virtue, in 
attention, and in respect. But he felt, nevertheless, that 
he was not loved as he had hoped and believed; that 
she had deceived herself as to the nature of her own 
feelings, and that he also had been deceived. And yet 
he loved her—how madly, how blindly, how tenderly, 
language is inadequate to describe. The very struggle 
which she daily and hourly imposed upon herself, with 



m MARRIED LIFE. 


57 


the object—laudable under the circumstances — of re¬ 
moving from his mind any doubt as to her affection, or 
at least, her utter devotion to his honor and happiness, 
seemed at one and the same time to increase the strength 
of his attachment, and to render him more miserable, 
because he felt it was not returned voluntarily and from 
her heart, but rather as a duty, and as the virtue of a 
gentle and tender nature. Time and again has this rich 
man attempted for his own sake, to persuade himself 
that his doubts are unjust; that he does possess the whole 
heart of his wife, and in the spirit in which he covets 
that possession. But a look, a word, a tone from her, 
and though meant to soothe and to satisfy, only serves 
to strengthen the suspicion, and render him more in¬ 
credulous and more wretched. This secret grief, this 
deathless wound, is the poison of his life; wealth can 
not compensate for it’. The countless millions of Croesus 
could not restore the confidence which was once felt and 
enjoyed; could not bring back that delight of reciprocal 
affection which formed the heaven of his existence 
during the first few months of his marriage. “ To doat 
yet doubt, under these circumstances—ah ! my friend,” 
we continued, “ your unhappiness is light and trivial 
compared to that of the rich man whose whole existence 
is embittered by the cause to which I have so briefly 
alluded. His is a sorrow which money can not soothe.” 



58 


FIRST QUARRELS 




Duly in the “course of human events,” John M-, 

and Jane, his wife, were blessed with what Tom Hood 
calls a “ dear nursling of the Hymeneal nest,” and one 
morning, several weeks thereafter, the father resolved 
that the time for naming their first-born should not be 
longer deferred; for though a little had been several 
times said to visitors concerning the matter, there had 
been no particular consultation between the parents on 
the subject. 

The morning above mentioned, the husband sat down 
in the room where his wife and child were, and intro¬ 
duced the matter by saying, “Well, Jane, it certainly 
devolves upon us now to give this little ‘ know nothing * 
a name; especially since it has been his due so long, and 
you and I have both had sufficient time to cull the list 
of names fixable to boy babies; so, 1 come let us reason 
together,’ and give our boy a name that shall be at once 
substantial, euphoneous, and judicious. In the absence 
of anything better, he is continually saluted with a string 
of nonsensical titles, which, were a proper name given 
him by us, he would, in a great measure, escape. I 
deprecate such clishmaclaver* about a house of mine.” 

“ I m sure, John,” said the wife, “ I’m perfectly willing 
to give our babe a “judicious name ” as you call it, and, 
of course, I have thought some about the name I would 
prefer, but then, as you seem to be particular about 

* Clishmaclaver is the Scotch name for silly talk.— Editor. 






IX MARRIED LIFE. 


59 


euphony, etc., I’ll say nothing about my choice till I hear 
yours, lest I should offend your musical ear. I suppose 
I have employed the “ nonsensical titles ” which you so 
much hate, about as frequently as anybody else; so now, 
as you have told me what you don't like, please tell me, 
also, what you do like.” 

“ One thing I like, is to have a wife talk sensibly to 
her first child, as well as to other people.” 

“ It was a name for this boy, John, that I asked you 
about; I thought you wanted to talk about that,” were 
the pointed words of the wife; for the captious, unfeel¬ 
ing speech of the husband was already beginning to pain 
her. 

“ Certainly, certainly ! ” said the husband, scarcely 
repressing another sarcastic thrust. 

“ Well, what is your choice ? ” asked the wife. 

“ 0, I hardly know. I’ve no very particular choice, 
though I was thinking some of calling him Alpheus 
Marion.” 

“ Alpheus Marion ? ” 

“ Yes; Alpheus Marion ! ” 

“Why, John, that’s for your father and one of your 
brothers, I believe ? ” 

“ Yes; and it’s none the worse for that, either.” 

“How would it do to call him Francis Marion? then 
part of the name would be for one of my brothers, and 
part for one of yours, and the whole of it for the old 
Revolutionary-General, Marion. I think his name was 
Francis.” 

“ Pshaw! Jane, that would never do at all. So far as 
the old General is concerned it might, but as for your 
brother Frank, I could never name a child for such a 
conglomeration as he is.” 



60 


FIRST QUARRELS 


“ You couldn’t, eh? I should like to know what you 
could have against him ? ” 

“ Nothing in particular; only you know he’s a harum- 
scarum, scatter-brained sort of an imp, and besides that, 
he hasn’t got any too good a character, at best.” 

“ I guess he’s got a better character than some of your 
brothers, John, especially your brother Alph.” 

“ 0 no ! Janie; 0 no!” 

“ Why, Alph is too lazy to work; he gambles and 
swears, and occasionally gets drunk; and once came very 
near being sent to the penitentiary, as you very well 
know.” 

“Come, Jane, you’ve now said enough of slang about 
my kin. They’re a flamin’ sight better than yours, and, 
I guess I might as well add, better than you , too” 

“Oh! John, what do you mean by this? How can 
you talk to me so ? ” 

“ I mean that whenever a wife of mine gets to throw¬ 
ing out insinuations about her betters, she might as well 
‘keep her breath to cool her broth.’ The way the streets 
of Jerusalem were kept so clean, everybody cleaned his 
own doorway. So, Mrs. M., you’d do well to have some 
respectable kin yourself, before you get quite so smart in 
abusing mine! ” 

Here the first dispute subsided, so far as the tongue 
was concerned, but the heart of the excellent wife was 
now floundering in its gore, and, “ as a sheep before her 
shearers is dumb, so she opened not her mouth ” in 
reply. Her vocal organs were of too refined a texture to 
convey the burden of her heart’s distress, but it was 
uttered fluently in the language of bitter tears. She 
thought of the hopeful time when she left the paternal 
shelter, a trusting, blushing bride, to meet the chances 



m MARRIED LIFE. 


61 


of life with one whose thorough heart she thought an 
impregnable tower of manliness. She had scarcely 
thought of anything but “ for better ” in her nuptial 
vows; but alas! now everything seemed “ for worse.” 
Though she had long seen that her husband was inclined 
to be unreasonable when angry, she had never dreamed 
that he could have talked to her as he had just done. 
She had hoped that the advent of the little nameless 
member of the family would give new zest to their 
uninterrupted delights, and forever secure his parents’ 
hearts from the danger of an alienation of confidence. 
Rut her hopes had now perished; and the language of a 
western poet—Rev. Sydney Dyer—was peculiarly expres¬ 
sive of her own sentiments :— 

11 Hopes once gone, are gone forever, 

They return not to the heart; 

Though we seek them, yet they never 
Will again their life impart; 

Thus if love’s first vows are broken, 

Every dream of bliss is o’er: 

Truth once sullied is the token 

That the heart can trust no more.’’ 


The foregoing suggests the following considerations: 1st. That 
nearly every married person is related by consanguinity to 
ignoble kin. 2nd. That every married person, having such kin, 
is apt to exercise more charity for them than the one who is 
merely related by affinity. 3d. That every husband should be 
very guarded about speaking disrespectfully of any of his 
wife’s kin, whom he may judge unworthy of esteem, especially, 
if he does not know that her opinion of them is similar to his 
own ; and vice versa .— Editoh. 



62 


FIRST QUARRELS 


WilU m& fglmUtj 


Henry -had been married just two months. He 

was proud of his wife’s glossy ringlets, her brilliant eyes, 
and, last of all, her small white hands. He never asked 
himself if these same hands could iron a shirt, make 
bread, or mend a pair of socks. Not he; it was enough 
for him to know that they could make trills on the 
piano, work worsted dogs and horses on crickets and 
ottomans, and paint something styled a landscape. She 
was not literary, either. Henry couldn’t tolerate that 
kind of absurdity. In his opinion, a woman had much 
better be asleep than putting her thoughts on paper. He 
thanked fortune, too, that she never took to dry disquisi¬ 
tions, tedious essays, or egotistical criticisms on egotistical 
books. Besides, his Helen didn’t care about politics : 
being a regular “ Know Nothing ” in regard to the item 
of who stood the best chance of becoming the next Presi¬ 
dent. As to the war in the East, she could not tell, 
positively, whether Sebastopol was up or down ; or whether 
it was in the hands of the Allies or Russians. Reforma¬ 
tion topics she never broached. Temperance was only 
fit for drunkards’ wives to talk about. So, it will be 
perceived that Helen was not a “strong minded” female; 
a fact upon which her husband felicitated himself not a 
little. 

We have said that two months comprised the married 
state of the latter. It would be gratifying to add that 
his happiness was complete; that he had nothing to wish 




IN MARRIED LIFE, 


63 


for. But candor compels me to say that he had discov¬ 
ered a little alloy in his gold. To be sure, it would pass 
for pure metal, but close examination disclosed the fact. 
In a "word, his coffee had been exceedingly muddy for 
more than a week, and when he cautiously dropped a 
hint to the effect that if her personal attention were 
given to the matter, the evil might be remedied, she 
rather tartly responded that “ coffee-making was not her 
business; ” moreover, she shut herself up in her cham¬ 
ber in a miff, thus depriving him of her precious com¬ 
pany the rest of the day. A kiss and a new scarf set 
the matter right next morning, however; Henry throwing 
in, gratis, an apology for his ill-timed suggestion. He 
remembered that all mankind (and we may as well 
include woman-kind,) fail to attain to perfection; that 
roses always grow in the immediate vicinity of thorns, 
and that rainbows and black clouds are often seen to¬ 
gether. 

It is a very curious fact, but no less true, that love 
scarcely ever outlives bad bread, smoky tea, thick coffee, 
hard boiled eggs, discolored silver and spoiled table 
linen. After all the romance and rhapsody laid to his 
charge, the little gentleman deals in practicabilities. He 
likes bread and butter, and he wants the bread light, and 
the butter sweet. He is a little exacting, too; insisting 
that gaiters look better neatly laced than when open and 
flapping at the sides, with the strings trailing on the 
ground. He was even known once to take an abrupt 
leave of a lady on the ostensible plea of dissimilarity of 
disposition; but shrewd people suspected that the true 
reason was because she wore dirty collars. He may be 
whimsical, flighty, and extravagant sometimes, but he is 
just as sure to leave his air castles and settle down to 



64 


FIRST QUARRELS 


three meals a day, as a feather is to obey the laws of 
gravitation. He writes tender poetry, too; but, gener¬ 
ally, inspiration seizes him after eating prudently of 
roast beef and other choice edibles. The sly rogue 
knows that an empty stomach is not favorable to* smooth 
rhyme, or soft sentiment. 

The honey-moon had just expired, or rather, the time 
allotted to that period; for it has been ascertained that 
that season can be protracted, by proper means, to an 
indefinite length of time. The twain were seated at the 
breakfast table. Henry looked dubiously at the burned 
and dried steak on the platter before him, made a wry 
face at his cup of coffee, took one mouthful of the clammy, 
leathery toast and then spoke : 

“ My dear Helen.” 

“ Well, Henry.” 

“ Hid you ever eat any of mother’s bread ? ” 

“No—why do you ask?” 

“ Because she makes the best biscuit I ever saw.” 

“ Undoubtedly! A man’s mother is generally his 
wife’s superior in every thing. I only wonder you was 
ever persuaded to leave her! ” responded Helen, dryly. 

It was the first time she had ever spoken sarcastically, 
and Henry was puzzled. 

“ I merely referred to my mother because she superin¬ 
tends the bread-baking herself. I wish you could be 
induced to do the same.” 

The lady lifted her taper finger :— 

“ Ho you really wish me to putty my hands with pie 
crust, and bury my arm in dough, Henry ? ” 

“ No—not that exactly, my love; but you could over¬ 
look Biddy, and teach her to make better stuff than this,” 
he added, pointing to the toast. 



IN MARRIED LIFE. 


65 


<£ ^ ^on ^ know how; besides, Biddy don’t want me in 
the kitchen, and I am not particularly attracted there. I 
don t mean to spend my life doing housework, or fretting 
about servants. I m not able to do anything more than 
wait on the table, and entertain visitors.” 

The bride sighed, and leaned back in her chair 

u But your cousin Mary keeps no help, and still gets 
time to—” 

u My cousin Mary is very foolish for doing so much 
more than she needs to. And then her hands are as 
brown as a gypsey’s.” 

“ I never happened to notice them. I only remember 
that she makes delicate pastry, and plays the piano nearly 
as well as yourself,” rejoined Henry, soothingly. 

“ I wish you wouldn’t quote cousin Mary. I don’t like 
comparisons. She’s a drudge and a blue. You said you 
didn’t like blues.” 

“1 don t; blondes are my favorites, and you are as 
pretty a blonde as I ever saw.” 

“ She’s an advocate of woman’s rights, too. How often 
you’ve said you were glad that I don’t interfere with 
subjects which don’t concern my sex ! And now you are 
finding fault with my house-keeping.” 

“That’s the very idea, my love. I’m only regretting 
your non-interference in matters that do concern your 
sex.” 

But Helen “ defined her position ” immediately. She 
didn’t design burying herself in the kitchen, or attaching 
herself to Biddy. She had married for a home and 
maintenance, and not to spend her time in rolling pie¬ 
crust, or molding bread. 

Henry looked surprised, and no wonder, for he felt 
surprised. That his adorable Helen could be perverse 
6 



66 


FIRST QUARRELS 


when it suited her, he well knew; hut that she should 
u put down her foot ” so resolutely, set him to thinking. 
The young husband did not wish his wife to perform the 
duties of a domestic; but he hoped she would take the 
general supervision of matters. He was a clerk, with a 
moderate salary, and prudence was indispensable to his 
situation. 

The story need not be lengthened. Waste and impro¬ 
vidence in the kitchen soon brought pecuniary embar¬ 
rassment, while in the parlor, incapacity, and ignorance 
of what constitutes a true woman and real lady, laid the 
foundation of much discord, which time did not lessen. 
The charm of the “ white hands ” had departed. 

Mere personal beauty, without intellectual attainments, 
a fund of common sense, and moral worth, can not prove 
long attractive. Think of this ye unmarried, who are in 
search of connubial felicity. Imagine each other’s state 
when beauty shall fade, and see what is left besides to 
admire. And ye married, make the best of your situa¬ 
tion by learning and practicing all you can that will con¬ 
tribute to its usefulness and enjoyment. 



IN MARRIED LIFE. 


67 


3Jt< goilwl nail ilu fS&rid*’ 

A young couple had passed the first weeks of their 
marriage at the house of a friend. Having at length 
occupied their new home, they were taking their first 
meal at a table of their own, when the following scene 
occurred :— 

The young husband was innocently opening a boiled 
egg in an egg cup. The bride observed that he was 
breaking the shell at, what she thought was, the wrong 
end. “ How strange it looks,” she said, “to see you break 
your egg at the small end, my dear ! No one else does 
so; and it looks so odd.” 

“ 0, I think it’s quite as good, in fact, better than 
breaking it at the large end, my love; for when you 
break the large end the egg runs over the top,” replied 
the husband. 

“ But it looks so odd, when no one else does so,” 
rejoined the wife. 

“Well, now, I really do think it is not a nice way that 
you have got of eating an egg. Dipping strips of bread 
and butter into an egg, certainly is not tidy. But I do 
not object to your doing as you please, if you will let me 
break my egg at the small end,” retorted the husband. 

“I am quite sure my way is not so bad as eating fruit- 
pie with a knife, as you do, instead of using the fork; 
and you always eat up the syrup as if you were not 
accustomed to have such things. You really do not see 
how very bad it looks, or I am sure you would not do 
so,” added the wife. 



68 


FIRST QUARRELS 


11 The syrup was made to be eaten with the pie, and 
why should I send it away in the plate ? ” asked the 
husband. 

“No well-bred persons clear up their plates as if they 
were starved,” said the bride, with a contemptuous toss 
of her little head. 

“ Well, then, I am not a well-bred person,” replied the 
bride-groom, angrily. 

“ But you must be, if we are to be comfortable to¬ 
gether,” was the sharp answer of the fastidious lady. 

“Well, I must break my egg at the small end, so it 
does not signify; and I must also eat the syrup.” 

“ Then I will not have either fruit-pies or eggs at the 
table.” 

“ But I will have them,” petulantly exclaimed the 
husband. 

“ Then I wish I had never been married to you,” cried 
the little wife, bursting into tears. 

“ And so do I,” added the now incensed husband, as 
he arose and walked out of the room. 

This domestic quarrel was followed by others equally 
trifling in their origin, and disgraceful in their character, 
until the silly couple made themselves so disagreeable to 
each other that their home became unendurable, and they 
separated. 

The following very sensible remarks are appended by 
Bev. Dr. Wise, of New York: 

“ I doubt not, the reader is ready to pronounce this 
quarrel about the opening of an egg, a very foolish affair. 
It was so; and yet I seriously question if the first quarrel 
between a newly married pair ever has a much more 
elevated beginning. Little things do great mischief, and 
are to be watched with suspicious care. 



IN MARRIED LIFE. 


69 


<C I repeat my caution. Beware of the first quarrel. 
Whatever dissimilarity of habit, taste, or feeling you 
may discover in each other, be resolute in enduring it; 
be determined to reconcile yourselves to it, or seek its 
modification by the gentlest attempts of love. Remember 
that, however unsuited to each other you may be, the 
irrevocable covenant has been uttered. You are bound 
to each other for life ; and both prudence and duty de¬ 
mand the concealment of your dislikes, and the strongest 
efforts to conform to each others’ tastes. It will be far 
easier, in case of such dissimilarity, to crucify your feel¬ 
ings and tastes, than to indulge in useless regrets and 
bitter quarrels. Begin your married life, therefore, 
with a stern and fixed resolve to avoid the first quarrel.” 


I have heard it said—and, no doubt, very correctly, too—that 
when a married pair sit down, for the first time, to eat at a 
table of their own, they are apt to experience feelings of awk¬ 
wardness. 

0, how superlatively awkward must those have felt who have 
thus seated themselves and quarreledl Two loving doves, with 
their characteristic innocence, would certainly feel extremely 
awkward after they had angrily pecked at each others’ eyes.— 
Editor. 



70 


FIRST QUARRELS 


Ste fjjHtirate JrkiC 

CHAPTER I. 

Charles Lane had been established in a prosperous 
business eight years, and was nearly thirty years old when 
he first proposed to himself to win a wife to brighten his 
home. He had so resolutely remained single while one 
after another of his young associates had soberly settled 
down in life, as the head of a family, that people had 
ceased to calculate the chances for this or that suitable 
young lady ever becoming Mrs. Lane; and his gallant 
attentions to the fair sex had come to be regarded by 
them in the light of common property. And it is not at 
all improbable that he would have passed quietly down 
into the vale of cheerless^ old bachelorhood, had he not 
become acquainted with Miss Catherine Hamilton, the 
sister of a beloved friend and former classmate. 

She was not quite eighteen when he married her, and 
the disparity in their ages for a long time kept him from 
regarding her in a different light from that in which she 
stood to his friend’s family—a household pet, bright, 
merry, and affectionate, used to all sorts of indulgence 
and flattery, but not spoiled by it. But the fresh charm 
of her manner, and the untutored, artless expression of 
her thoughts, as yet uncorrupted by the intercourse of 
fashionable city life, had a graceful loveliness in the eyes 
of the wearied man of the world, superior to all that he 
had hitherto found in female society, and so he brought 
her from her country home, and established her in a 



IN MARRIED LIFE. 


71 


fashionable city residence, and introduced her as his wife 
to his critical associates, with the firm conviction that 
they would be almost as much delighted as himself with 
his choice. 

For her sake, so young and so gay hearted, he re¬ 
nounced at once those habits of study and retirement 
which had become almost a second nature. For years 
he had preferred a quiet evening with his book, to the 
gay parties to which he was constantly invited, and had 
asserted his bachelor privilege of remaining at home 
whenever he chose; but now there was no end to the 
invitations that poured in upon them, and which were un¬ 
hesitatingly accepted for the sake of the young wife, and 
for a time he enjoyed the change. He observed, with 
pleasure, the effect of Kate’s simple beauty upon the idle 
crowd,to whom a new face was nearly as attractive as a 
new bit of gossip. To her, every thing was novel and 
charming. At her age she was not likely to observe the 
artificial smile, the studied intonation of affected interest 
in conversation; to her, the tinsel glare was a delightful 
reality, and she did not once dream that there could be 
insincerity in the professions of affection that greeted 
her at every turn. There are many, older and more ex¬ 
perienced than Kate Lane, who have yet to learn the 
hollow-heartedness of mere fashionable society. 

Charles soon became wearied of the endless round of 
amusements, and often excused himself on the plea of 
business, when a suitable female chaperone could be 
found for Kate. “ She is young, and needs . all this 
society,” he would say, often, as the carriage, containing 
his wife and her particular friends, drove away; “ but 
when she gets older, she will tire of it, as I do, and then 
we will have a home together.” 



72 


FIRST QUARRELS 


Kate, on her part, often wondered at his persistence * 
sending her so often abroad, when it would be so much 
pleasanter to remain with him at home, but she was too 
much occupied by the succession of pleasures to which 
she was introduced, to reflect very deeply upon the sub¬ 
ject. There was a Miss Bryant, to whose particular 
friendship Charles had himself recommended her, soon 
after her marriage, who had by rapid degrees gained her 
confidence, and an influence over her, which promised no 
good. The few hours that were not claimed by general 
society, were not free from the familiar intrusions of the 
intimate friend, and the frequent repetition of “ Dearest 
Fanny,” and “ Darling Kate,” soon jarred upon the hus¬ 
band’s ear more than he would have freely confessed. 

There was another thing that began to trouble him. 
There was a great change in his wife’s taste in dress, and 
the becoming simplicity that had so attracted him as a 
lover, was fast changing into a close attention to the 
ridiculous requirements of fashion. It seemed to him 
that the important shopping expeditions upon which his 
wife and friend were so often absent, made up too much 
of a woman’s existence, and he soon learned to consider 
a call from Miss Bryant as a signal for the appearance 
of milliners and dress-makers. But only on one point 
did he place any restriction upon Kate’s unbounded 
liberty. He insisted that she should, on no considera¬ 
tion, ever incur debts that she was unable to pay. With 
an earnestness that greatly impressed her, he pointed out 
the easy path to ruin, that so many pursue, and made her 
promise, that, in all her dealings with others, the only 
honorable course of prompt payment should be prac¬ 
ticed. 

At first it seemed to Kate that it was needless caution, 



IN MARRIED LIFE. 


73 


and slie laughingly asked him how she was ever to dis¬ 
pose of one half the sum that he had placed at her com¬ 
mand ; but in a little time, as Miss Bryant’s influence 
over her increased, she began to wonder how she should 
contrive tor pay the sewing-girl’s bill, or get the new 
bonnet that Fanny assured her was so charmingly adapted 
to her complexion. The little purse, that was so plump 
and round for six months after her marriage, was often 
empty before a year was out, and Kate’s little head was 
frequently harassed by the most intricate calculations. 

“ You will have to learn our city ways, and buy on 
credit yet,” Fanny said to her one morning, as they were 
looking over a new style of shawls, in a fashionable shop. 
“ It will never do to let such bargains as these slip by, 
because you have not the money ready at the moment 
required. Why, there is scarce a lady among all our 
friends, who pretends to pay up promptly, and some of 
their bills run a long time. But you country folks are 
so afraid of trifles 1 It’s the way you are educated, I 
suppose.” ' 

“ It’s not that, Fanny. You know as well as I do, that 
Charles has a horror of debt.” 

“ Well, this would hardly be called a debt, even by 
him. You will be able to pay within a month, I dare 
say.” 

“ Yes, in less time.” 

“ And yet you can hesitate, when this is such a chance 
to buy cheap! There are only two shawls of this pattern, 
and I shall take one at any rate, though when it will be 
paid for I can’t say. Mr. Brown is sure of getting the 
money from father if I fail, so he will be easy, and so 
shall I. Come, Kate, buy the other, and we can dress 
alike. Just try it on. Now look at yourself in that 



74 


FIRST QUARRELS 


mirror. Does it not look splendidly, Mr. Brown ? ” she 
asked of the merchant, who had been standing silently 
by, quite willing to be assisted by Miss Bryant in driving 
a good bargain. 

“ Yes,” he replied, “ the style is peculiarly adapted to 
her, as you see. It is not often that what we call ‘ fitness ’ 
in costume is so well represented. Turn round, if you 
please, Mrs. Lane, so that the light can fall directly upon 
you. Is it not a beautiful sight, Miss Bryant ? ” 

“ Charming ! Do, Kate, darling, be once persuaded by 
me, and not suffer this rare opportunity to slip by.” 

“Let me have the pleasure of sending it to your house 
this morning,” said Mr. Brown. “ I can not answer for 
its remaining on sale an hour, madam, or I would not 
urge the matter; but it is seldom that we have any thing 
so charming in the market, and it will not be possible to 
keep it long.” 

“ I can not pay for it this morning,” hesitated Kate ; 
“I should prefer waiting till I can pay for it; ” and she 
began reluctantly to take it off. The delicate compliments 
of the merchant had so enhanced its value in her eyes, 
that she felt it quite a sacrifice to give it up. 

“ I should be happy to trust you, Mrs. Lane, to any 
amount. I have the names of many ladies of your ac¬ 
quaintance on my books. We hardly look upon these 
little transactions as debts; they are only temporary 
accommodations, the necessity for which will often occur 
in a lady’s experience, and which it is really a pleasure 
to us to render. You are not used to our customs yet, 
and allow a trifling matter to be an inconvenience to 
you.” 

Thus persuaded, Kate finally yielded, and the shawl 
was purchased and sent home. But it was a heavy heart 



IN MARRIED LIFE. 


75 


that Kate now began to carry about into all her scenes 
of pleasure. Other bills became due, and were paid; 
but they seemed suddenly to have acquired great magni¬ 
tude, and to drain more deeply than ever the purse that 
was to save the money for the shawl. Other debts, too, 
were added to the first; it didn’t seem to matter so much 
if the original sum were increased a little, if present 
ease could be secured. Charles tried in vain to find out 
the cause of the cloud that now shaded her brow. The 
merry, careless laugh of other days, sounded hollow and 
unnatural, and she, whom he had begun to fear was never 
to arrive at the years of serious reflection, had frequent 
fits of sadness that were wholly unaccountable. He began 
to think that he had neglected her, and he again accom¬ 
panied her to each party of pleasure; but the gloom still 
remained; for into the brightest of those gay assemblies 
would steal the remembrance of her weakness and folly, 
and she was ready to weep as she sought vainly some 
way to escape from the coming evil. She tried hard to 
appear unconcerned and happy, for she had learned to 
dread, as a means of detection, the watchful love of her 
husband; but her forced gaiety did not deceive him, 
though he imagined every cause but the right one for her 
prolonged melancholy. 

u 0, dear ! ” said Kate, one day, to her friend, “ if 
Charles should ever know about those stolen goods, I 
should never be happy again.” 

“ Stolen, Kate ! ” 

“ I feel as if they were. They are not mine, at any 
rate. I have no right to them, and when they will be 
paid for I can not tell. Sometimes I think I’ll tell Charles 
all about it, and let him despise me. It would be better 
than this continual fear of being suspected.” 



76 


FIRST QUARRELS 


“No It wouldn’t.” Fanny had her own reasons for 
keeping Charles in ignorance. “ You know, darling 
Kate, his horror of debt. It is a morbid feeling, to be 
sure, and perfectly unreasonable, so far as your little 
embarrassments are concerned, but I suppose he can’t 
help it. Do you know what makes him so particular? ” 

“ It is because he is honest and upright. 0 that I 
were worthy of him ! ” 

“ Nonsense ! You have a fit of the dumps, Kate. 
Mr. Lane, being an orphan, was brought up by his uncle, 
who somehow became greatly embarrassed in business, 
and in a fit of despair shot himself.” 

“ Dreadful! ” 

“ Yes, it was very shocking. Ilis dying did not mend 
the matter or pay the bills, so he was not overwise, I 
think. But being a near relative, it made a great impres¬ 
sion upon Mr. Lane. It’s a pity, for you would be much 
happier, dear, if he were not so precise.” 

“ If he were less honorable, you mean. No, Fanny, 
I should be happier if I were honorable, too.” 


CHAPTER II. 

One fine morning in early autumn Miss Bryant came 
to her friend’s house in a great hurry. 

“ Come, Kate,” she exclaimed, “ come go with me to 
Brown’s. He has a lot of new fancy silks, and we’ll have 
our pick of them before the whole town gets a chance 
to overhaul them.” 

“ I don’t need a silk now, Fanny. You know it was 
only last month that we had those expensive brocades. 
Charles calls me his little spendthrift.” 

“ In fun.” 




IN MARRIED LIFE. 


77 


“ In fun, of course. But you see lie is in business, 
and father says he needs a great deal of money for 
capital, and mother whispered to me as I took leave 
of her the last time I was at home, that she was afraid 
I had yet to learn how to economize.” 

“ I hate the very word economy, don’t you ? It has 
such a vulgar sound, so countrified, you see. As if we 
were obliged to look at a cent on both sides before 
spending it. It does for old folks to preach of economy. 
I dare say we shall do it in our turn. But I am all im¬ 
patience to get to Brown’s. What are you waiting for ? 
Isn’t the husband willing for Kate to go out?” 

“ What nonsense ! You know, Fanny, that Charles 
never interferes with my actions in any way. He never 
even inquires what becomes of all the money that he 
places at my disposal. I wish he did though,” added 
Kate, sighing deeply. 

“ Now, you ought to thank the generous stars who 
gave you to a man not disposed to meddle. No woman 
likes to have her affairs too curiously looked into, even 
by her liege lord; and you, Kate, would not be particu¬ 
larly charmed to have your husband study out the suin 
total of your liabilities.” 

“ You are hardly fair, Fanny. It was your persuasion 
that induced me to buy that last hat.” 

“ My persuasion ! ” 

11 Yes, indeed. Did you not say that you knew 
Charles’s taste so well, and that he would be delighted 
with it? Well, he thinks it a fright, and I have wished 
over and over again that I had never seen it, but it is too 
late to wish about it. I gave it to Maria, the daughter 
of our laundress, and a pretty figure she cuts in it.” 

“ Well, well, that has nothing to do with the new 



78 


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silks at Brown’s. You can go with me and look at 
them, I suppose, if you do not purchase.” 

“ Yes, I should like the walk. I feel so dull and 
low-spirited.” 

“ Meditating on mamma’s whisper of economy is what 
has caused it. Now, Kate, if only the thought of economy 
produces such troubled looks and faint spirits, what 
would the practice of it do ? ” 

The two ladies were soon busily engaged in the inspec¬ 
tion of the new goods, and the morning hours slipped by 
unperceived. Kate was soon, as Miss Bryant said, her¬ 
self again, and mother’s wise suggestion was forgotten. 
Again Kate yielded to the influence of her friend, and 
before they left the shop each had purchased a fancy silk, 
to be worn at a large party that was to be given the next 
week. It is true that a few misgivings crossed the mind 
of Mrs. Lane as she selected the rich trimming, but the 
lively, piquant remarks of her friend drove away the 
gathering cloud, and she listened with a pleased look to 
the sugared compliments of the polite merchant. 

It was, however, only for a short time that she forgot 
the real state of her affairs, and now, for the first time, 
she asked Mr. Brown to favor her with the amount of her 
bill. She put it in her pocket without looking at it, and 
really vexed with herself for her easy compliance with 
Fanny’s wishes, and half angry with her friend for inter¬ 
fering so readily in her affairs. She began to retrace her 
way homeward in so sad and silent a mood that Miss 
Bryant, who had been exulting in the success of her 
plans for her, was quite ready to take leave at the door 
and hurry off to call on other acquaintances. Kate hur¬ 
ried up stairs to her own room and sat down almost in 
despair. 



m MARRIED LIFE. 


79 


“It was only this morning,” she said to herself, “that 
I sat here and resolved so sincerely that I would never 
buy on credit again. And here is a costly dress that I 
do not need or want added to the rest, because I am so 
weak and foolish that I dare not act for myself. I am a 
mere tool that Fanny uses as she pleases. I am certain,” 
she continued after a pause, “ that Charles does not know 
her. He would not, I am sure, trust me so often with 
her if he did. He is too open and unsuspecting himself 
to observe the fatal influence that she exerts over me. 
I must break with her, or she will ruin me. Rut, then, 
a reason for it must be given, and so the whole truth will 
come out, and what shall I do when Charles knows how 
little I am to be trusted ? Is there no other way ? ” 

She mechanically pulled out the merchant’s account 
and looked it over. The amount startled her. “ Eighty 
dollars for laces only ! 0 me ! I could not have believed 
it. Six hundred dollars in all, and then I owe two 
hundred more to Fanny, who would ask it of Charles 
directly if I offended her. I know what I will do. I will 
go home to mother and tell her every thing. She will 
love her poor Kate just the same, and though she can not 
help me to pay this money I shall feel better if she knows 
all. And this last silk, why, it will do for sister Clara. 
Mother wrote for me to send out such a dress for her, 
and I, in my trouble, quite forgot it.” 

Kate’s face brightened perceptibly as she took up her 
mother’s letter and read it over the second time. “ How 
fortunate ! ” she exclaimed. “ It seems that I have 
bought exactly what mother requires.” 

Another piece of good fortune was in store for Kate. 
A visitor was announced, an unwelcome visitor, too; a 
lady who was particularly disliked in society because 



80 


FIRST QUARRELS 


of her vulgar attempts at costly and especially gorgeous 
display; often setting all rules of propriety at defiance 
in her efforts to outdo others. It was, therefore, with 
feelings little akin to pleasure that Kate met her in the 
parlor. 

“ Ah, Mrs. Lane, how charmingly you look ! A little 
pale, to be sure, but that is becoming to you. My 
Augusta tells me that a lily complexion is now quite 
the fashion. It is thought so interesting. . But Augusta 
is so rosy naturally, and is so disgusted by her own color, 
that she suffers dreadfully. You would hardly believe 
me, Mrs. Lane, if I should tell you of the quantity of 
chalk and cloves that she has taken to destroy the red 
in her cheeks, but it is of no use, she is as flowery as a 
milk-maid. Mr. Larkin, dear good soul, advises her to 
try grave-stones. What do you think of it?” 

‘‘ I don’t know, indeed,” replied Kate, laughing at the 
idea. 

“ But I have another trouble this morning, Mrs. Lane, 
and how I am ever to meet Augusta I don’t know. The 
poor girl will be in despair.” 

“ What has happened ? ” asked Kate, becoming serious 
as she saw the evident perplexity of her visitor. 

“ Nothing has happened, but Augusta, dear girl, went 
to Church last Sabbath, and Miss Fanny Bryant wore a 
shawl that so captivated her fancy, that she is sure she 
shall never be contented again without a similar one. 
I have been over the whole city in vain. There are some 
very much like Miss Bryant’s at Warren’s, but nothing 
short of the exact pattern will do. Augusta is very par¬ 
ticular, and Miss Bryant is her model in dress.” 

Kate could hardly help laughing again as she remem¬ 
bered Fanny’s vexation at being so exactly copied by the 



IN MARRIED LIFE. 


81 


young lady in question, and once the plan now suggested 
to her mind would have been discarded as treacherous to 
her friend, but she began to see things in their true light 
and replied without hesitation : 

“ There were only two shawls of that pattern. They 
were sold at Brown’s. Miss Bryant took one and I 
bought the other. I have worn mine only once, and as 
I have no particular preference for the pattern and can 
easily suit myself with another, Miss Augusta can have 
it if she chooses.” 

The calm tones of Kate’s voice hardly corresponded 
with the quick throbbing of her heart as a prospect of 
materially lightening her embarrassments thus opened 
before her. 

“Now, will you really be so obliging? I declare it 
must have been Providence that sent me in here,” said 
Mrs. Parker, suddenly becoming pious as her troubles 
vanish, “ and truly, as the Scripture says, 1 A friend in 
need is a friend indeed.’ Augusta will fairly die with 
delight. Let me take the shawl to her myself, Mrs. Lane, 
if it is not making too much trouble. I shall never 
forget your kindness. But it is like you, Mrs^Lane. 
Every body is speaking of your goodness; even poor 
Mrs. Churchill—whose baby you dressed so prettily after 
it was dead —says she shall never he contented till she does 
the same for yon. What is the price of this shawl ? ” 

Kate had sent for it and Mrs. Parker had been unfold¬ 
ing it and gazing admiringly upon it while speaking. 

“ Two hundred dollars, ma’am.” 

“ Indeed ! And Miss Bryant paid that for her’s ? ” 

“ Yes. The price was the same.” 

“ Well, it seems a great sum to pay, but Augusta 
Would not wear a lower-priced one. So here is the 



82 


FIRST QUARRELS 


money, and thank you too. Let me know if I can 
oblige you at any time. You will excuse me if I hurry 
home. I want to see her try it on. Won’t she be 
pleased, though?” 

And the really thankful mother hurried off with her 
prize, leaving Kate in a still more grateful frame of 
mind. 

“ How angry Fanny will be when she sees that shawl 
worn ! ” she thought as she went back to her room ; “ but 
it is not so unfair as it is for her to take such advantage 
of my inexperience as she does. It seems sometimes 
as if she really contrived ways to get me involved in 
debt; but she could have no interest in doing that, and 
so I will not wrong her. But I will, in future, act for 
myself, and no more unnecessary articles will I buy till 
these are paid for. I am resolved on that, at any rate.” 

There was a lurking doubt and trembling at the bottom 
of her stout resolutions, a little of irresolute dread in 
her heart, as she thought how frequently she had yielded 
to temptation; but her face wore a happier expression 
than it had for months, and she met Charles with some¬ 
thing of the old confident smile when he came to dinner. 
He, hailing it as an omen of future content, became in 
his turn unusually cheerful. 

“ I want to go home this afternoon, Charles.” 

“ Is not this home ? ” he asked, his face growing seri¬ 
ous as he attributed her restored spirits to her anticipation 
of meeting her friends. 

“ Yes. This is the dearest, the best home, and I shall 
hurry back to-morrow. I shall not take you away from 
all the business that you so love to worry over, and you 
will hardly miss me before the morning train brings me 
back again.” 



IN MARRIED LIFE. 


83 


“You must bring sister Clara back with you. Is it 
not time for another visit from mother? Tell them to 
come directly. My pet is getting lonesome. Ah ! that 
smile does not deceive me, Katie; I’ve seen it for a long 
time.” 

“ You are certainly mistaken, Charles.” 

“ And you are certainly happy, Kate ? ” he asked. 
u Can you say that? ” 

Her cheek crimsoned and she hesitated painfully as 
she strove to answer gaily. 

“ Ah, Kate, what shall I do to make you happy ? ” 

“Nothing. Indeed, Charles, I have all I want, and if 
I am sometimes a little out of spirits, it is not your fault. 
I’m getting old and steady, you see.” 

“ Well, well, bring back some of the folks with you. 
I will go to the station and see you safely off, and I shall 
come out myself in the evening train.” 

Her smile of pleasure on hearing this assured him that 
whatever might be the cause of her unhappiness, it was 
not a want of affection for him. 


CHAPTER HI. 

It was on the morning preceding the expected party 
that Charles Lane called at the house of a gentleman in 
another part of the city to transact some business. The 
gentleman was out, but the servant who opened the door 
said that he would be back soon; so he concluded to go 
in and wait for him. He was shown into a back parlor 
that communicated by folding doors with the common 
sitting-room of the family. One of the doors happened 
to be slightly ajar—not enough to afford a distinct view 




84 


FIRST QUARRELS 


of the occupants of the room, hut sufficiently so to give 
him the benefit of their conversation. 

Too polite to listen, he took up a book, and, seating 
himself as far from the door as possible, he tried to forget 
both the conversation and his business in looking over 
its pages, when his attention was arrested by the familiar 
voice of Miss Bryant, who seemed to be in the best 
spirits possible as she chatted and laughed by turns. 
“ She is at her usual employment,” he said to himself, 
resuming his book; “ ridiculing some of her friends, I 
dare say.” 

“ It seems strange, Fanny, said a voice that was new to 
him, “ that she does not tell her husband. If she is as 
confiding and affectionate as you represent her, I should 
think she would naturally do so.” 

“ There is not the least danger of it; I have talked too 
much to her about his horror of debt.” 

Charles started and leaned forward, now listening at¬ 
tentively. 

“ I verily think,” continued Miss Bryant, “ that the 
little puss believes he would discard her forever if he 
knew the truth. There is no danger of her telling him; 
she would die sooner than to risk the loss of his love.” 

“Well, after all, Fanny, as she has never injured you, 
I can hardly sympathize in your pleasure in urging her 
to do wrong.” 

“ She is Charles Lane’s wife, Louisa, and that is injury 
enough.” 

“ I remember your disappointment, Fanny, but she had 
nothing to do with it.” 

“ No, and does not dream of it. Bo you not understand ? 
If I could not strike hwi through her : do you suppose I 
Would take such pains ? ” 



IN MARRIED LIFE. 


85 


“ Does he love her ? ” 

“Yes, he adores her. In his eyes she is perfect, and 
will be for the present. But the future, when conceal¬ 
ment becomes impossible, when the fated bills are really 
sent home at last, and discovery and the loss of his es¬ 
teem become inevitable, that future, full of triumph and 
satisfied revenge, will be mine, Louisa.” 

“'Well, I don’t envy you the possession of it. In my 
opinion, you are working very hard for very small pay.” 

“ You may think what you please if you do not betray 
my confidence. You can not imagine the trouble I had, 
or the pains I took before I could get her to buy on 
credit. It was only when she was sure of having funds 
directly that I at last prevailed. I should hardly have 
succeeded then but for Brown, who helped me nobly; only 
thinking, however, of feathering his own nest.” 

“ Well, she paid that bill, I suppose.” 

“ No she didn’t; I knew better than she how to calcu¬ 
late, and I had not studied her affairs so closely without 
finding out what claims upon her purse were likely to be 
made. I shall never forget her look of terror when she 
found that she could not pay that first debt. I almost 
felt it in my heart to pity her, but she mentioned her 
husband’s name, and I was granite.” 

“ I believe you.” 

“ But she nearly betrayed all that evening.” 

« How?” 

“ You must know it was a stormy evening, and, for a 
wonder, there was no party, no concert, no any thing to 
go to, so I went there. Kate had been playing a favorite 
piece of her husband’s, and still sat by the piano, idly 
striking its chords, when he mentioned Mr. Browning’s 
failure, which had just got abroad. As men usually do, 



86 


FIRST QUARRELS 


he attributed the misfortune to the prodigality of the 
unfortunate wife. It seems that when Mr. Browning was 
most in need of funds, and while some prospect remained 
of yet weathering the storm, there came in a monstrous 
hill for millinery and other finery, and the poor man 
sunk at once. When Mr. Lane mentioned this, I saw 
Kate jump up from the music stool and put her hand to 
her forehead as if thoroughly frightened. I contrived to 
give her a warning look, but I thought he was rather 
suspicious.” 

“ Poor Kate ! ” thought Charles, as Miss Bryant paused 
to take breath. He, too, remembered the night in ques¬ 
tion, and his wife’s agitation. 

lie was truly shocked by these disclosures, but blamed 
himself far more deeply than lie was disposed to blame 
Kate. Her youth and inexperience fully excused her in 
his eyes. His own blindness was the most unaccountable. 
His want of consideration in placing her in the way of 
such temptations seemed inexcusable. He, who had so 
solemnly promised to cherish and protect her, had, in 
his unwitting confidence in the integrity of others, ex¬ 
posed her to the worst of perils. He understood Fanny’s 
malice very well, though only her own lips could have 
persuaded him of its existence. The sisterly affection 
that she had offered, in place of the dearer claim that 
she had striven vainly to establish, he had believed to be 
sincere, and had rejojced to see it bestowed upon Kate, 
also. He had sometimes doubted the utility of 'their 
particular intimacy, but never, even in thought, had he 
suspected Fanny to be capable of anything dishonorable. 
And this, then, was the solution to what had so long 
puzzled him, and Kate s fits of sadness were all explained 



IN MARRIED LIFE. 


87 


“ Poor Kate ! ” lie sighed again. Miss Bryant ,con- 
tinued: 

“You will be at the party to-night, and I will intro¬ 
duce you to her. You might help me a great deal, 
Louisa, if you would. She might be invited here, and a 
simple game of cards proposed at first, in which nothing 
should be hazarded—a game for mere amusement, you 
know.” 

“ I will have nothing whatever to do with it. My 
conscience—” 

“ Your conscience! ” interrupted Fanny, I did not 
know you had one. There, you need not get angry. I 
was speaking in jest. But really you must become 
acquainted with Kate. She wdll wear a new fancy silk 
to-night, that is not paid for. I wonder if Charles Lane 
really thinks that she dresses so expensively upon the 
sum he allows her. I coaxed her to Brown’s with a good 
deal of difficulty, for she had sat down with the gravest 
face you ever saw, to study economy. And I bought a 
dress that I did not want for the pleasure of getting her 
to purchase a similar one on credit. Economy, indeed I 
And Fanny Bryant her intimate friend ! ” 

Both ladies laughed heartily. 

“It’s too bad, too bad, Fanny. Why, you are as bad 
as you w r ere when we were at school, and you stole Miss 
Burton’s prize essay.” 

“ But this is better fun than that. If you had only 
been at Brown’s and seen me manage the poor little fool, 
you would say I had vastly improved. To-night I will 
give her a whispered hint that I believe Mr. Lane is get¬ 
ting suspicious, and you shall see her turn pale and 
shiver as if she had the western ague.” 

“ You are perfectly heartless,” said the other lady, 



88 


FIRST QUARRELS 


laughing, however, in the most encouraging manner. 
“ Hush ! here comes Tom ! ” 

“ Shut the parlor door, Tom, and then go and play; 
cousin Lou is busy.” 

The boy did as he was requested, and, in so doing, 
shut out the amiable schemes of Miss Bryant from the 
ears of her particular friend’s husband. He had heard 
enough, however, to explain every thing. Fanny had 
unconsciously been a most powerful pleader in behalf of 
Kate, and it was only a sentence of forgiveness and love 
that her judge was to pronounce. 

The gentleman did not return; so he left a message for 
him, and went back to his office to reflect alone upon 
what he had heard, and to decide upon some method of 
gaining Kate’s confidence without alarming her fears. 
The late improvement in her spirits seemed now an unfa¬ 
vorable symptom; he feared that she was getting accus¬ 
tomed to her dishonorable position, and less sensitive to 
what was wrong in it. He sent home—as his business 
frequently obliged him to do—an excuse for not coming 
to dinner, and spent the whole afternoon in forming plans 
and discarding them. 

“ If Kate would bring her troubles to me, and confide 
in me, as she ought to do, it would be easy enough to 
arrange matters. The bills must be paid directly, and 
this precious intimacy must be broken up at once, and 
Kate must not go to this party to be tormented so cruelly. 
I must speak to her about it all, at once. If I delay, 
other mischief will be brewing.” 

O 

It had been a miserable day for Kate. Her mother 
had suggested no plan for the removal of her difficulties, 
but had urged her as she valued her happiness—to go 
directly to Charles and tell the humiliating truth. There 



IN MARRIED LIFE. 


89 


seemed no other way to extricate herself; but she remem¬ 
bered Fanny’s warnings, and shrunk from the idea of 
explanation. 

“ If he only knew how much Fanny has encouraged 
me in all this wretched business, it would not seem so 
bad to him ; but he will think more meanly of me if he 
finds that I add to my other faults treachery to my friend. 
No, I will never excuse myself by throwing the blame on 
her.” 

As the hour approached for dressing for the party, she 
became more and more uneasy. Fanny had insisted on 
their being dressed alike, and she dreaded the remarks 
that she would make on her appearance. When she was 
dressed she began to be anxious about her husband. It 
was not usual for him to be so tardy, and on this occasion 
she was particularly desirous to arrive at the party before 
the rooms were crowded, that she might secure some 
quiet corner where she would be screened from general 
observation. At last he came in, but she observed that 
he was in his usual dress. 

“ Not ready, Charles?” she said, “it is late, and I have 
been waiting a long time.” 

“ I am very sorry, but I was detained by business.” 

“It is always business, business! ” said Kate, in a vexed 
and impatient tone; “I detest business, Charles.” 

He turned to look at her in some astonishment. 

“Indeed ! and how should we live without it?” 

“ Live ? As other people do. But we must not wait 
to talk about it. You will be ready soon, Charles?” 

He did not reply; and as she raised her eyes to his 
face she was struck with its unusual expression. It was 
not the fond, admiring glance that he usually accorded to 
her attire when dressed for society; its seriousness awed 
8 



90 


FIRST QUARRELS 


her. One more stolen look, and tlie conviction rushed 
upon her mind that the veil was at last torn from all she 
had striven to conceal, and her disgraceful position made 
known. A sensation of relief, mingled with the feeling 
of shame that led her to cover her burning face with 
both hands. She could not meet his look with the calm, 
untroubled glance of other days. He noted the change, 
and sighed deeply as he came to her side. 

“ Do not be afraid of me, dear Kate,” he said, “1 have 
been more to blame than you in all that has troubled you 
for I should have considered your youth and yielding 
temper, and have shielded you from temptation. Look 
up, and do not tremble so. I know it all, and love you 
just the same. But really, Kate, there must be confidence 
between us now.” , 

He sat down on the sofa and drew her to his side. 

“ Can you not trust me, Kate ? ” 

Her head dropped lower and lower; his manly kindness 
made her fault only the more odious and contemptible. 

“Tell me all about it, Kate,” he said, soothingly, as he 
smoothed back with his hand the shining tresses that 
hung over her face; “ let me know all, and we will find 
out a remedy. Look up, my love, say you forgive me 
for being so careless of my best treasure, for exposing 
you to such dangers.” 

“ 0, Charles ! ” she exclaimed, for the first time looking 
up, “ I am sure that you do not know all. You could 
not speak so kindly if you did. I have done a great 
wrong. I am deeply involved in debt, and it is not a 
single error that I have been guilty of, but it has been 
repeated over and over again. I should have come to 
you at first, but I feared so much lest you should so 
despise my folly as finally to hate me. I know your 



IN MARRIED LIFE. 


91 


sense of honor, and how much I have disgraced you as 
well as myself; but 0, Charles, you can never know how 
I have suffered.” 

“ I know that you have been very unhappy. If I had 
known the cause, if you had but trusted me sufficiently 
to have confided in me at first, it would have been better. 
But we can not recall the past; it only remains to relieve 
you now, and—” 

“ No, Charles,” she interrupted him, you must not 
help me, I will work my way out without aid; only say 
that I have not wholly lost your esteem, that you do not 
despise my weakness, and I shall have courage and 
strength for any thing. Let me remedy the evil by my¬ 
self.” 

“ Impossible ! My dear wife, do you suppose I value 
a few dollars when it is to secure peace and tranquility 
to you? Tell me to whom you are indebted, and for how 
much. I will arrange it all, and we will begin the world 
anew, my Katie.” 

“ No, no, I want to learn self-reliance and regain my 
self-respect. If the task is difficult the lesson will be 
more perfect.” 

“ But, Kate—” 

u Please let me try; you do not know how dreadful it 
is to be afraid to trust one’s self.” 

“ But, Kate,” said her husband, 11 listen a moment to 
me. And first tell me the amount to be paid.” 

She hesitated, and raised her eyes timidly to his face, 
but she saw only love and encouragement there, so she 
answered boldly, “ Eight hundred dollars.” It was a 
larger sum than he had expected to hear; but he con¬ 
tinued, quietly, “ The last new silk at Brown’s, is that 
included in the sum you mentioned ? ” 



92 


FIRST QUARRELS 


“ Yes; but mother has taken that for Clara, and I have 
two hundred dollars more that Mrs. Parker paid for my 
shawl.” 

“ So you have sold the shawl. Well, my little mer¬ 
chant, what is there besides the dress and shawl ? ” 

“ How did you know about the dress ? ” 

“ I overheard Miss Bryant telling a lady how she 
coaxed and ridiculed a 1 poor little fool ’—these were her 
very words, Kate—* till she prevailed on her to run in 
debt for it.’ ” 

“ 0, Charles! ” exclaimed his wife, opening her eyes 
to their fullest extent. 

“ And 0, Kate! ” he replied, laughing, as he imitated 
her astonished looks. “ Well, you will at least know 
how to appreciate her worth as a friend. What other 
articles did you buy in this way ? ” 

“ These bracelets, and—-and that diamond pin, and—” 
“Well?” 

“ The hat which you called a butterfly because of its 
gay trimming, and a great quantity of lace, and—and the 
brocade dress that you admired when we went to Mrs. 
Grey’s.” 

“ Were they all bought at Brown’s ? ” 

“ All but the jewelry. I bought that of a traveling 
peddler. Fanny said that they were very beautiful and— 
and very becoming to me, and that a chance to get any 
so cheap might never come again, and she lent me the 
money.” 

“ Ah, well, then we have not to hunt up the peddler. 
Have you mentioned all?” 

“ Yes.” 

“Now, then, Katie, I shall pay these debts directly— 
or rather I shall ask you to do so.” 



IN MARRIED LIFE. 


93 


“ If you please, Charles/' she interrupted him. 

“I don’t please. For my sake, as well as for yours, 
these accounts must not be suffered to run.” He observed 
her look of disappointment, and continued: “ If you 
really have it so much at heart, you may puzzle yourself 
as well to pay me as any one else. I will trust you 
longer than Brown will, Katie, and I will consider happy 
looks and restored peace as lawful currency if you are 
pressed for money.” 

“ But I am in earnest, Charles,” she urged, I must pay 
it all—every penny, and you must not add to the liberal 
sum you have always allowed me.” 

“ I will exact the last half cent if it will please you. 
But you must be my merry, happy Kate; you are not to 
grow pale and fret yourself about it; and, above all, you 
must never have a secret from me again. Promise me 
this.” 

The required promise was so earnestly given, that 
Charles could not forbear a smile. 

“ Look at the clock,” he said, “ shall we go to the 
party ? ” 

“ No, no; let us spend the evening at home together. 
Where can we find a place so pleasant as our own home ? 
Wait till I run up stairs and change my dress and get 
my work—” 

“And bathe those swollen eyes, Kate. And what 
then?” 

“ Let us have the books and the music, as we do on 
stormy evenings. I am so glad, always, when it storms.” 

He looked at her attentively as he held the door open 
for her. The old sunshine of the heart illuminated the 
sweet face once more, and he heard her singing as she 
went up the stairs. He thought of his early dreams of 



94 


FIRST QUARRELS 


domestic bliss, and began to ask bimself if it were not 
wiser to endeavor to render bis wife happy at home than 
to persist in exposing her to the corrupting influence of 
fashionable life. He was thinking deeply on this ques¬ 
tion when she returned. 

“ We can be happy by ourselves, Kate,” he said, as he 
put on the slippers and dressing gown that she had 
brought down; “ we are not dependent on other people 
for our comfort.” 

“ No, indeed.” 

“ It is rather strange that we so often seek abroad 
what we leave at home ; don’t you think so, Kate ? ” 

“Of what are you thinking?” she asked, a little 
puzzled by his grave manner. 

“ Of home pleasures, dear. Have you never thought 
that the quiet happiness that is found in your father’s 
house, for example, is worth more than the exciting plea¬ 
sures of society ? ” 

“ A thousand times. And I’ve thought it very strange 
that you, Charles, who used to enjoy so well those quiet 
evenings at father’s, should care so little about our own 
home, and insist so strongly on the claims of society.” 

“ It was to gratify you—to keep you from pining after 
the old home.” 

“Then, are you not an over-indulgent man?” said 
Kate, in her light, natural manner, and smiling brightly 
as she put her little work-box on the table; “ now, sir, 
do you see this ? Thimble, needle, scissors, thread; they 
are to come down every night, and the books, too,” she 
added, pointing to the bookcase ; “ and when we are tired, 
there’s the music ! Will you really agree to it? ” 

“ To what?” He had not seen her eyes sparkle so for 
many a day. 



IN MARRIED LIFE. 


95 


“ Will you be contented with those home pleasures of 
which you just spoke? I should be so happy, Charles, 
if you were satisfied. Fanny says you are passionately 
fond of society, and that I must adapt my country taste 
to yours, if I wish to make you happy.” 

“ Fanny knows better. I went into company very sel¬ 
dom before we were married. But we will forget her 
and settle down as steady old people at once. Never 
mind the work-box to-night; I am tired, and you must 
rest me with the deai\old music. I shall be a very tyrant 
in my exactions if we are to amuse each other.” 

“ Certainly, then, we shall be very happy.” 

It was indeed a happy evening that they spent together. 
It was nearly as late as the usual hour of return from 
abroad when the piano was finally shut and the parlor 
deserted. 

The next morning brought Fanny. Kate tried hard to 
assume her usual cordial manner, but could not succeed. 

“ Why were you not at the party, Kate ? ” 

“ We preferred staying at home.” 

“ Indeed! I supposed you would be there, as you had 
a new dress on purpose to wear. An old friend and 
school-mate of mine was there, and I wanted to introduce 
you to her. Are you going to Mrs. Grey’s to-night?” 

“No, I think not.” 

“ You are invited, I suppose?” 

“ Yes, but have already declined going.” 

“ Why, Kate, what has come to you ? I came in to 
invite you to call on my friend, but I suppose it would 
be useless if you have retired from the world.” 

These allusions to her friend recalled all Fanny’s 
schemes to Kate’s mind, for Charles had related to her 
the conversation so providentially overheard, and she 



96 


FIRST QUARRELS 


now replied with some spirit, “I think, Fanny, that the 
best place for the { poor little fool ’ who can be coaxed or 
ridiculed to incur a debt, is at home.” 

Miss Bryant started, colored slightly, and fidgeted un¬ 
easily in her chair. There was something in Kate’s cool, 
dignified manner that disconcerted her. 

“ I don’t know what you mean,” she said, rising hur¬ 
riedly as Charles came in. A sudden thought seemed to 
occur to her as she sat down near them. “ I am in a 
hurry, Mrs. Lane, having several calls to make. I 
thought I would come in to ask when it will be conve¬ 
nient for you to pay the money you borrowed of me. I 
am loth to mention such a trifle, but it would really 
oblige me if you could pay it at once.” 

Fanny had calculated on seeing the greatest dismay 
and consternation depicted on either face before her. 
But Charles coolly took up a review from the table and 
began to cut the leaves, while Kate counted the required 
sum from her purse and laid it before her. Miss Bryant 
bit her lip with vexation. She saw that her plans were 
understood, that she was foiled in all her efforts, and that 
perfect confidence had been restored between Charles and 
his wife. She lingered a few moments, in the vain hope 
of resuming her old place in the family, or of obtaining 
some knowledge of the explanation which had evidently 
taken place; but it was soon quite plain to her that their 
intimacy was at an end. Kate seemed suddenly to have 
laid aside her yielding, childish character, and to have 
acquired in its place the graceful dignity of womanhood. 
Henceforth, her home was her earthly paradise; and 
when, in a few short months, the altar of prayer was 
erected there, and she, with her noble husband, had 
become partakers of the great salvation of the Gospel 



IIS' MARRIED LIFE. 


97 


of Christ, true peace and heavenly joy came to hallow 
and purify the domestic pleasures of home. They live 
still. Foremost in their efforts to promote the good of 
others, they stand firmly in the ranks of those who are 
battling for the right and succoring the oppressed. 

To Miss Bryant the sudden failure of her cherished 
schemes still remains a mystery; and still less does she 
understand the change, so abiding and happy, that has 
been wrought in their hearts by the power of God’s Holy 
Spirit. She calls on them occasionally, and is politely 
received, but into the charmed circle of love that sur¬ 
rounds them she is never able to enter.— Mrs. II. C. 
Gardner . 



98 


FI I! ST QUARRELS 


UraproprirfkiS wttfc a 

The following fact,” says Bev. Dr. Wise, “ which is 
taken from a recent British publication, conveys its own 
moral on several points which, in this polluted world, 
are important to be guarded against by all who would be 
happy.” 

Mr. A- married Miss T-. They were about 

the same age, and apparently matched as well as paired. 
He had his infirmities: a weakly constitution, caused by 
early sickness, and a very common mental infirnity— 
vanity. She was kind, benevolent, social in her disposi¬ 
tion, and was devotedly attached to him. So well suited 
were they to each other, that twenty years of their wedded 
life passed away in uninterrupted peace. 

At first, their circumstances were moderate. Having 
no children, and her mother being a resident in the fam¬ 
ily^ Mrs. A-did without a servant. But after twenty 

years their fortunes were so much improved, that a 
larger domestic establishment appeared necessary to their 
station in life. And this gave rise to the further neces¬ 
sity of having a servant to meet the additional labor. 

This circumstance, strange as it may seem, grew into a 
domestic viper, whose deadly bite poisoned the remainder 
of their lives. 

A quiet girl, ignorant, but strong and healthy, was ob¬ 
tained from the country. She was very poor, also. Her 
clothes were unfit for her appearance as a servant. Mrs. 
A-was a generous woman, and, in the goodness of 







IN MARRIED LIFE. 


99 


her heart, she undertook to clothe the girl. And here 
she unwittingly did her unsophisticated servant a great 
injury. Not, to be sure, in clothing her; but in doing so 
improperly. She gave her clothes superior to her cir¬ 
cumstances,—finery such as the poor child had never 
touched before. As a natural consequence, she was 
greatly lifted up by her altered appearance; she did not 
know herself; the seeds of vanity were planted in her 
heart, and in due time they yielded their harvest of crime 
and sorrow. 

Perhaps this fault of Mrs. A- might not have so 

seriously affected her own happiness, had .she not been 
the prey of another. She was extremely fond of social 
intercourse, and, in consequence, was frequently, very 
frequently, absent from her own house and table. Her 
husband, being partially an invalid, did not choose to ac¬ 
company her; and being remarkably good-natured, did 
not complain. But, as a result, he was necessarily much 
waited on by the country girl, now grown a smart, hand¬ 
some young woman. She was very attentive to his wishes; 
and he favored her with kind words in return. The girl 
felt flattered; he increased his attentions, until, after Mrs. 
A.’s return from a trip to Bologne with her brother, which 
had kept her from home a month, she made discoveries 
that led to a separation from her husband, which lasted 
ten years, when death put an end to the guilty career of 
Mr. A. and his paramour. 

“-This simple narrative,” says its writer,” which is quite 
true, has many a parallel in every-day life. Evil may 
spring from the best intentions, when not guided by 
sound judgement and experience.” 




100 


FIRST QUARRELS 


E'rlllf.s. 

Truly hath the poet said that, u Trifles swell the sum 
of human happiness and woe.” Our highest and holiest 
aspirations, our purest and warmest affections are 
frequently called forth by what in itself may be deemed 
of trivial importance. The fragrant breath of a flower, 
the passing song of the merry milk-maid, a soothing 
word from one we love, will often change the whole cur¬ 
rent of our thoughts and feelings, and, by carrying us 
back to the days of childhood, or bringing to our remem¬ 
brance some innocent and happy state which steals 
over us like a long-forgotten dream, will dissipate the 
clouds of sorrow, and even the still deeper shades of 
falsity and evil. 

How many of the great events of life have their origin 
in trifles; how many deep, heart-felt sorrows spring 
.from neglect of what seemed to us a duty of little or no 
account—something that could be done or left undone 
as we pleased! 

Alas ! this is a dangerous doctrine. Let us endeavor 
to impress upon the minds of our children that no duty 
is trifling; that nothing which can in any way affect the 
comfort and happiness of others is unimportant. 

The happiness of domestic life, particularly of married 
life, depends almost wholly upon strict attention to 
trifles. Between those who are united by the sacred tie 
of marriage, nothing should be deemed trivial. A word, 
a glance, a smile, a gentle touch, all speak volumes j 



IX MARRIED LIFE. 


101 


and tlie human heart is so constituted that there is no 
joy so great, no sorrow so intense, that it may not be 
increased or mitigated by these trifling acts of sympathy 
from one we love. 

Nearly three months had elapsed since the papers 
had duly announced to the public that Mary, daughter 
of Theodore Melville, had become the bride of Arthur 
Hartwell; and the young couple had returned from 
a short bridal tour, and were now quietly settled in a 
pleasant little spot which was endeared to Arthur by 
having been the home of his youthful days. He had 
been left an orphan at an early age, and the property 
had passed into the hands of strangers, but he continued 
to cherish a strong attachment for the “ old place,” as 
he termed it, and he heard with joy, some few months 
before his marriage, that it was for sale; and without 
waiting to consult his intended bride, he purchased it 
for their future home. This was a sad disappointment 
to Mary, for she had fixed her affections upon a pretty, 
romantic little cottage, half hid by trees and shrubbery, 
which was situated within two minutes’ walk of her 
father’s house ; and which, owing to the death of the 
owner, was offered for sale upon very favorable terms. 
In her eyes it possessed every advantage, and as she 
mentally compared it with the old-fashioned dwelling 
of which Arthur had become the possessor, she secretly 
conceived a strong prejudice against the spot where tho 
duties and pleasures of the new sphere which she was 
about to enter were to commence; particularly as it was 
five miles distant from her parents, and not very near to 
any of her early friends. 

Some faint attempts were made to induce Arthur to 
endeavor to get released from the bargain, and to become 



102 


FIRST QUARRELS 


the purchaser of the pretty cottage, hut in vain. He was 
delighted to become the owner of what appeared to him 
one of the loveliest spots on the earth, and assured Mary 
that the house was vastly superior to any cottage; 
advancing so many good reasons for this assertion, and 
describing in such glowing terms the beauty of the sur¬ 
rounding scenery, and the happiness they should enjoy, 
that she could not help sympathizing with him, although 
her dislike to her future home remained unabated. 

The first few weeks of her residence there passed 
pleasantly enough, however. All was new and delight¬ 
ful. The grounds about the house, although little culti¬ 
vated, were beautiful in the wild luxuriance of nature; 
the trees were loaded with rich autumnal fruits ; and even 
the old-fashioned mansion, now that it was newly painted, 
and the interior fitted up in modern style, assumed 
a more favorable aspect. It was a leisure time with 
Arthur, and he was ever ready to accompany Mary to 
her father’s ; so that she became quite reconciled to the 
distance, and even thought it rather an advantage, as it 
was such a pleasant little ride. 

But as the season advanced, Arthur became more 
engrpssed with business. The rides became less fre¬ 
quent, and Mary, accustomed to the society of her mother 
and sister, often passed lonely days in her new home, and 
her dislike to it in some degree returned. Her affection 
for her husband, however, prevented the expression of 
these feelings, and she endeavored to forget her loneliness 
in attention to household duties, reading, and music; but 
these resources would sometimes fail. 

It was one of those bright afternoons in the latter 
part of autumn, when the sun shines forth with almost 
summer-like warmth, and the heart is gladdened with 



m MARRIED LIFE. 


103 


the departing beauty of nature. Mary was seated alone 
in her pleasant parlor, with her books and her work by 
her side. 

“ How I wish Arthur would return early! ” she said, 
aloud, as she gazed from the open window. “ It will 
he such a lovely evening. We could have an early tea, 
and ride over to father’s and return by moonlight; it 
would be delightfuland filled with this idea, she really 
expected her husband, although it still wanted two hours 
of the usual time of his return ; and laying aside her 
work, began to make some preparations for the evening 
meal. She was interrupted by a call from an old friend 
who lived nearly two miles distant, and, intending to 
pass the afternoon at Mr. Melville’s, had called to request 
Mary to accompany her. 

The young wife was in considerable perplexity. She 
had a great desire to go to her father’s, but she was 
unwilling to have Arthur return home and find her 
absent; and moreover, she felt a strong impression that 
he would himself enjoy the ride in the evening, and 
would, perhaps, be disappointed, if she were not at home 
to go with him. So, with many thanks the invitation 
was declined, the visitor departed, and Mary returned 
with a light heart to the employment which the visit 
had interrupted. 

Janet, the assistant in the kitchen, entered into 
the feelings of her mistress, and hastened to assist 
her with cheerful alacrity, declaring that she knew 
“Mr. Hartwell would be home directly, it was just the 
evening for a ride,” &c., this ebullition of her feelings 
being partly caused by sympathy with the wishes of her 
young mistress, and partly by her own desire to have 
the house to herself for the reception of some particular 



104 


FIRST QUARRELS 


friends, who had promised to favor her with their com¬ 
pany that evening. 

But alas ! the hopes of both mistress and maid were 
destined to be disappointed. The usual time for Arthur’s 
return passed by, and still he did not appear ; and it was 
not until the deepening twilight had almost given place 
to the deeper shades of evening, that Mary heard his 
well known step, and springing from the sofa where she 
had thrown herself after a weary hour of watching, she 
flew to the door to greet him. 

“ Oh, Arthur ! ” she exclaimed, forgetful that he was 
quite ignorant of all that had been passing in her mind 
for the last few hours, “ how could you stay so late ? I 
have waited for you so long, and watched so anxiously. 
It is quite too late for us to go now.” 

“ Go where, Mary ? ” was the surprised reply. “ I did 
not recollect that we were to go anywhere this evening. 
I know I am rather late home, but business must be at¬ 
tended to. I meant to have told you not to expect me 
at the usual hour.” 

This was too bad. To think that she had refused 
Mrs. Elmore’s kind invitation, and had passed the time 
in gazing anxiously from the window, when she might 
have enjoyed the society of father, mother, and all the 
dear ones at home ; and now to find that Arthur actually 
knew that he should not return till late, and might have 
saved her this disappointment, it was really very hard; 
atfd Mary turned away to hide the starting tears, as she 
replied, 

“ You might have remembered to have told me that 
you should not be home till dark, Arthur, and then I 
could have gone with Mrs. Elmore. She called to ask 
me to ride over to father’s with her, but I would not go, 



IX MARRIED LIFE. 


105 


because I felt so sure that you would come home early 
and take me to ride this pleasant evening, yourself.” 

“ You had no reason to expect it,” said Arthur, rather 
shortly, for he felt irritated at the implied reproach of 
Mary’s words and manner, and for the first time since 
their marriage, the husband and wife seated themselves 
at the table with unkind feelings busy in their hearts. 
Mary remained quite silent, while Arthur vented his 
irritation by giving the table an impatient jerk, ex¬ 
claiming, 

“ I really wish Janet could learn to set a table straight! 
I believe her eyes are crooked.” 

This was an unfortunate speech, for Mary, in her de¬ 
sire to expedite Janet’s preparation for tea, had herself 
arranged the table ; at another time she would have 
made a laughing reply, but just now she did not feel 
like joking, and the remark only increased the weight 
at her heart. 

These grievances may seem very trifling, and indeed 
they are so; but our subject is trifles, and if the reader 
will examine his own heart, he will find that even little 
troubles sometimes produce a state which even the addi¬ 
tion of a feather’s weight renders insupportable. 

Thus it was with Mary. She made an ineffectual 
attempt to eat, but the food seemed to choke her; and 
rising abruptly, she seated herself at the piano and com¬ 
menced a lively tune in order to hide her real feelings. 

There was nothing strange in this. Arthur frequently 
asked her to play for him when he felt disposed to remain 
at the table longer than she did, and he had often said 
that he liked the ancient custom of having music at 
meals; but this evening, music had lost its charm; the 
lively tune was not in unison with his state of feeling, 



106 


FIRST QUARRELS 


and he hastily finished his supper and left the room. 
This was another trial, and the ready tears started from 
Mary’s eyes as she left the piano, and summoning Janet 
to remove the tea things, she bade her tell Mr. Hartwell 
when he came in, that she had a bad headache and had 
gone to her own room. 

Arthur returned from his short walk in less than half 
an hour, quite restored to good humor by the soothing 
effects of the lovely evening, and somewhat ashamed that 
he had been disturbed by so trifling a cause. 

“ Perhaps Mary would like to take a walk,” he said 
to himself, as he entered the house. “ It is not too 
late for that, and to-morrow I will endeavor to take the 
wished-for ride.” 

He was disappointed when Janet delivered the mes¬ 
sage, and going up stairs opened the door of their sleep¬ 
ing apartment; but Mary’s eyes were closed, and fearful 
of disturbing her, he quietly returned to the parlor and 
tried to amuse himself with a book until his usual hour 
of going to rest. 

The next morning all seemed as usual; for sleep has a 
renovating power on the mind as well as the body, and 
in little troubles as well as in great. 

Husband and wife spoke affectionately to each other, 
and secretly wondered how such trifles could have dis¬ 
turbed them; but no allusion was made to the subject, 
for the very reason that the unpleasant feeling which 
had arisen between them had sprung from so trifling a 
cause. The trouble could scarcely be defined, and there¬ 
fore they judged it better to say nothing about it. In 
some cases this is well, but, generally, it is better to 
speak openly even of little difficulties; especially those 
which may arise in the first part of married life, as this 



IN MARRIED LIFE. 


107 


frankness enables husband and wife to gain an insight 
into all those trifling peculiarities of character which 
each may possess, and upon attention to which, much of 
their future happiness may depend. 

Weeks and months passed on, and, apparently, all 
was going happily with our young friends. Mary had 
become more accustomed to passing some hours of each 
day alone, and her solitude was frequently enlivened by 
a visit from her mother, sister, or some young friend of 
her school-girl days. Arthur still appeared devotedly 
attached to her, and she certainly returned his affection 
most sincerely, and yet both felt that there was a 
change. It could scarcely be defined, and but trifling 
cause could be assigned for it. They would have indig¬ 
nantly rejected the idea that they loved each other less 
than formerly, but there was certainly less sympathy 
between them; they were not so closely united in every 
thought and feeling as they once had been. No unkind 
words had passed on either side, at least none which 
could really be regarded as such, for the trifles which 
had gradually produced this feeling of separation were 
almost too insignificant to call forth absolute unkindness; 
yet still they did their work slowly but surely. 

Mary was the petted child of indulgent parents. 
Arthur had early lost both father and mother, and his 
childhood had passed with but little of the genial effects 
of female influence. He had spent most of his time at a 
school for boys, where, although his intellect was well 
cultivated, and his morals strictly attended to, there was 
little done to call forth those warm affections of which 
every young heart is susceptible. And as he grew to 
manhood, although most of his principles were excellent, 
and his feelings warm and tender, there was a want of 



108 


FIEST QUARRELS 


that kindliness and gentleness of manner, and above all, 
of that peculiar faculty of adapting himself to the wants 
of a female heart, which would not have existed had he 
been blessed with the care of a mother, or the affectionate 
sympathy of a sister. 

His acquaintance with Mary before their marriage had 
been of short duration, and these traits in his character 
had passed unobserved during the excitement of feeling 
which generally marks the days of courtship; but as this 
state passed away, and his usual habits returned, Mary’s 
sensitive heart was often wounded by trifling inattentions, 
although never by wilful neglect. Arthur was fond of 
study, and in his leisure hours he would sometimes be¬ 
come so entirely absorbed in some favorite author, that 
even Mary’s presence was forgotten, and the evening passed 
away without any effort on his part to cheer her evidently 
drooping spirits. Not that he was really selfish: it was 
mere thoughtlessness, and ignorance of those attentions 
which a woman’s heart demands. If Mary had requested 
him to lay aside his graver studies and read aloud in 
some work interesting to her, or pass an hour in cheerful 
conversation, or in listening to music, he would have com¬ 
plied without hesitation, and, indeed, with pleasure ; but 
she remained silent, secretly yearning for little acts of 
kindness, which never entered the mind of her husband. 
Another peculiarity which gave the young wife much 
pain, was that Arthur never, or very rarely, uttered words 
of commendation or approval. If any thing was wrong, 
he noticed it at once, and requested a change ; but if 
right, he never praised. This is a common error among 
husbands, and it is a great one. Approval from those we 
love is as refreshing to the human heart as the dew to the 
fading flower; and to a woman’s heart it is essential: 



m MARRIED LIFE. 


109 


■without it all kindly affections wither away; the softest, 
the most delicate feelings become blunted and hard; the 
heart no longer beats with warm, generous emotions—it 
is cold, palsied, and dead. 

Even in the most trifling details of domestic life, ap¬ 
proval is encouraging and sweet. The weary wife and 
mother who has passed through a day of innumerable 
little vexations and difficulties, is cheered by the pleasant 
smile with which her husband takes his seat at the tea- 
table, and feels new life as she listens to his commenda¬ 
tions of some favorite dish which she has placed before 
him. 

True, it is but a trifle, but it speaks to the heart. 

We will give our readers a short specimen of the 
habit to which we allude. Breakfast was on the table, 
and a part of the hot cakes and smoking ham had 
been duly transferred to Arthur’s plate. He ate spar¬ 
ingly, and his looks plainly showed that something was 
wrong. Presently he said—“ Mary, dear, I think you 
must look a little more strictly after Janet. She grows 
very careless; this bread is decidedly sour, the ham is 
half cooked, and worse than all, breakfast is ten minutes 
too late.” 

Mary’s quiet reply, that she would “ endeavor to have 
it right another time,” was quite satisfactory; pleasant 
remarks followed, and Arthur left home with a cheerful 
“ Good morning.” 

Another breakfast time arrived. Mary’s own personal 
attention had secured sweet bread, and she had risen 
half an hour earlier than usual to insure that all was 
done properly and in season. 

Punctually the well prepared dishes were placed upon 
the table; again Arthur’s plate was well filled, and, to do 



110 


FIRST QUARRELS 


him justice, its contents were eaten with keen relish; hut 
no look or word of approval was given to show that he 
understood and appreciated the effort which had been 
made to meet his wishes. 

All seemed right to him, and, therefore, there was 
nothing to say. To some this might have been satisfac¬ 
tory, but not to Mary. She longed for a word or smile 
to show that she had given pleasure. 

But, not quite all these petty causes of complaint were 
on one side. Arthur often felt grieved and somewhat 
irritated by Mary’s altered manner or moody silence, 
showing that he had offended in ways unknown to him¬ 
self ; and there were also times when her ridicule of his 
somewhat uncultivated taste grated harshly on his feel¬ 
ings. Her continued dislike to the “ dear old place” was 
another source of regret; and before the first year of 
their married life had expired, feelings had sometimes 
been busy in both their hearts which they would have 
shuddered to confess, even to themselves. 

Winter and spring had passed away, and summer was 
again present with its birds and flowers. Mary was in 
her garden, one lovely afternoon, arranging some favorite 
plants, when her attention was attracted to a small cart, 
laden with some strange old-fashioned-looking furniture, 
which had stopped at their gate. She at first supposed 
that the driver wished to inquire the way, but to her sur¬ 
prise, he carefully lifted a large easy-chair, covered with 
leather and thickly studded with brass nails, from the 
wagon, and brought it toward the house, bowing respect¬ 
fully as he approached her, and inquiring where she 
wished to have it put. 

“There is some mistake,”. said Mary; “these things 
are not for us.” 



IN MARRIED LIFE. 


Ill 


“ Mr. Hartwell sent them here, ma’am,” was the re¬ 
ply ; “ and here is a bit of a note for yer leddyship.” 

Mary received the proffered slip of paper, and hastily 
read the following lines : 

“ You will be pleased, dear Mary, to find that I have 
at length discovered the purchaser of my mother’s easy- 
chair, and the old clock which formerly stood in our 
family sitting-room, and have bought them of him for a 
moderate price. They are valuable to me as mementos 
of my boyish days, and you will value them for my sake.” 

But Mary had a great dislike to old clocks, and 
leather-bottomed chairs, and she was little disposed to 
value them even for Arthur’s sake. However, she directed 
the man where to place them, and returned to the em¬ 
ployment which he had interrupted. Arthur’s business 
demanded his attention until a late hour that evening, 
and he had said when he left home that he should take 
tea in the city. Mary retired to rest before his return, 
and nothing was said concerning the old furniture until 
the following morning. 

Indeed, it seemed so perfectly worthless to Mary, that 
the recollection of it had passed from her mind; but it 
was recalled by the sudden inquiry of her husband as he 
finished dressing and prepared to go down stairs. 

“ Oh, Mary, dear, where did you have the old chair 
and clock placed? Was I not fortunate to find them?” 

“Very,” replied Mary, with forced interest; “although 
I hardly know what you will do with them. I had them 
put in the shed for the present.” 

“ In the shed! ” exclaimed Arthur; “ but you are right, 
Mary, they need a little rubbing off; please to let Janet 
attend to them this morning, and I will show you the 
very places where they used to stand in the parlor. How 



112 


FIRST QUARRELS 


delighted I shall he to see the old clock in its accustomed 
corner, and to seat myself in the very chair where I have 
so often sat with my dear mother ! ” 

“ Why, Arthur, you do not really intend to place those 
hideous old things in our parlor?” 

“ Certainly I do. I see nothing hideous in them. They 
are worth all our fashionable furniture put together. 
What is your objection to them, Mary?” 

“I have every objection to them,” was her almost 
indignant reply. “ They would form the most ludicrous 
contrast to the rest of our furniture.” 

“ I see nothing ludicrous or improper in putting them 
in their old places,” said Arthur, warmly. “ They are 
dear to me as having belonged to my parents, and I can 
not see why you should wish to deny me the pleasure of 
having them where I can enjoy the recollections which 
they recall.” 

“ Put them in the garret, or in your own little room 
where you keep your books, if you like,” answered Mary; 
“ but if you have any regard for my feelings, you will 
keep them out of my sight. I think the sacrifice which 
I make in living in this old-fashioned place is enough, 
without requiring me to ornament my parlor with 
furniture which was in use before I was born. However, 
I do not expect much consideration for my opinions and 
tastes.” 

“ You have certainly showed little regard for my 
feelings ,” was Arthur’s irritated reply; “ and perhaps, I 
may also say with truth, what your words imply, I have 
little reason to expect regard and consideration;” and 
hastily leaving the room, he was on his way to his office 
before Mary had composed herself sufficiently to descend 
to the breakfast room. 



IN MARRIED LIFE. 


113 


“ Has Mr. Hartwell breakfasted ? ” sbe inquired, with 
surprise, as she saw the solitary cup and plate which 
Janet had placed for her. 

“ He took no breakfast, ma’am. I think he was in 
great haste to reach the office.” 

‘ He has a great deal to attend to, just now,” replied 
her mistress, unwilling that Janet should suspect the 
truth; but as soon as the girl left the room, her excited 
feelings again found vent in tears. 

Bitterly did she regret what had passed. It was the 
first time that harsh words had been uttered by either 
and they seemed to have lifted the veil which had long 
been drawn over thoughts and feelings which had tended 
to dissimilarity and separation. 

The year passed in rapid review before her, and she 
felt that there was a great and fearful change, the cause 
of which she could not define, for she had no distinct 
charges to bring against Arthur, and as yet, she attached 
little blame to herself. The unkind manner in which 
she had spoken that morning, was indeed regretted; but 
this seemed only a trifling error. It was certainly unrea¬ 
sonable in Arthur to expect her to yield willingly to such 
a strange whim. 

But he no longer loved her, she was sure of this; and 
proof after proof of his inattention to her wishes, and 
neglect of her feelings, came to her mind, until she was 
almost overwhelmed with the view of her own misery, 
which imagination thus placed before her. 

And this was the anniversary of their marriage! One 
short year before and they had exchanged those mutual 
vows which then appeared unchangeable. How soon 
happiness had fled ! and to think that this climax of 
their troubles should happen upon this very day, which 
10 



114 


FIRST QUARRELS 


ought to have been consecrated to tender remembrances ! 
—this was the hardest thought of all; hut probably, 
Arthur did not even remember the day. As these and 
similar thoughts passed through Mary’s mind, her tears 
redoubled, and fearful that Janet would surprise her in 
this situation, she rose hastily to go to her own room. 
In doing this her eye suddenly rested upon a small par¬ 
cel addressed to herself, which lay upon her little work¬ 
table, and taking it in her hand she passed quickly up 
the stairs, just in time to avoid the scrutinizing eye of 
Janet, who, shrewdly suspecting that something was 
wrong, had resolved to be uncommonly attentive to her 
young mistress, in the hope of discovering the cause of 
the trouble. 

Mary locked the door of her own apartment, and, ob¬ 
serving that the address on the package was in Arthur’s 
handwriting, she hastily tore off the envelope, discovering 
a beautiful edition of a volume of poems for which she 
had expressed a wish—unheeded and unheard, as she 
deemed it—some days before. Her own name and that 
of her husband wer<£ written upon the blank leaf, and the 
date showed that it was designed as a gift for this very 
day; a proof that he remembered the anniversary which 
she had supposed so entirely forgotten. 

It was but a trifling attention—one of those pleasant 
little patches of blue sky which we sometimes see when 
the remainder of the heavens is covered with clouds— 
but it produced an entire revulsion of feeling. A flood 
of gentle and tender emotions filled the heart of the 
young wife; the faults of her husband now appeared to 
her as nothing, while his many virtues stood out in bold 
relief; it seemed that she, alone, had been to blame in 
the little difficulties which had sprung up between them j 



IX MARRIED^ LIFE. 


115 


for a playful remonstrance on her part would, no doubt, 
have dispelled the coldness of manner which had some¬ 
times troubled her, and induced him to pay those little 
attentions which her heart craved. He had generally, in 
important matters, been very kind to her, and how often 
she had opposed his wishes and laughed at his opinions! 

But it was not yet too late; she would regain the place 
in his affections which she still feared she had forfeited; 
and with the childish, impulsive eagerness which marked 
her character, Mary hastened to the shed, and summon¬ 
ing Janet to her assistance, was soon busy at work on the 
old furniture, which, an hour ago, she had so much 
despised. The old clock-case soon shone with an un¬ 
equaled polish, and the chair seemed to have renewed its 
youth. But where should they be placed ? for Arthur 
had left the house without designating the spot where 
they had formerly stood. 

“ It would be so delightful to have them just where he 
wished, before he comes home! ” thought Mary, and it 
was with real joy that she turned to receive the greeting 
of a worthy old lady, who was one of the nearest neigh¬ 
bors, and having lived on the same place for the last 
forty years, had undoubtedly been well acquainted with 
the old chair and clock, and could tell the very place 
where they ought to stand. 

This proved to be the case. The lady was quite de¬ 
lighted to meet such old friends, and assisted Mary in 
arranging them with the utmost pleasure. 

“ There, dear,” she exclaimed, when all was completed, 
“ that is exactly right. It seems to me I can almost see 
my old friend, Mrs. Hartwell, in her favorite chair, with 
her pretty little boy, your husband that is now, by her 
side. Poor child! it was a sad loss to him when she 



116 


FIRST QUARRELS 


died; I am glad he has found such a good wife; it is not 
every one who thinks so much of their husband’s feelings 
as you do, my dear.” 

Mary blushed a little at this somewhat ill-deserved 
praise, but thanked her worthy visitor for her kindness, 
and exerted herself so successfully to make her long call 
agreeable, that the good lady went home with'the firm 
impression that “ Arthur Hartwell had got one of the 
best wives in the country.” 

The hours seemed long until the usual time for Ar¬ 
thur’s arrival; and with almost trembling eagerness Mary 
heard his step in the entry. Her tremulous but pleasant 
“ Good evening,” met with rather a cold return, but she 
was prepared for this, and was not discouraged. Tea was 
-on the table, and they sat down. Arthur’s taste had 
been scrupulously consulted, and the effort to please did 
not, as was too often the case, pass unnoticed. 

From a desire to break the somewhat awkward silence, 
or from some other motive, he praised each favorite dish, 
and declared he had seldom eaten so good a supper. 

Rising from table, they proceeded as usual to the par¬ 
lor ; and now Mary was amply rewarded for the sacrifice 
of her own taste—if sacrifice it could be called—by the 
surprise and pleasure visible in her husband's countenance 
as he looked around, and by the affectionate kiss which 
he imprinted upon her cheek. 

“ And you will forgive my hasty words, will you not?” 
whispered Mary, softly, as he bent his head to hers. 

“ They will never again be remembered,” was the 
reply; “ and I have also much to ask your forgiveness 
for, Mary; for I have thought much and deeply, to-day, 
dearest, and I find that I have been very deficient in 
many of the most essential qualities of a husband. Rut 



IN MARRIED LIFE. 


117 


let us sit down together, and we will review the past year 
a little, and you will give me a clearer insight into the 
feelings and wants of your heart.” 

A long and free conversation followed, in which the 
husband and wife gained more real knowledge of each 
other’s characters than they had obtained in the whole 
of their previous acquaintance. 

“ And now, dearest, we will sum up the lesson which 
we are to remember,” said Arthur, playfully, as the late¬ 
ness of the hour reminded them that the evening had 
passed unheeded away. “ I am to think more of trifles, 
and you are—” 

“ To think less” added Mary, smilingly. u Let us 
see who will remember their lesson the best.” 



118 


FIRST QUARRELS 


Sophy Blake was the acknowledged belle of Lons- 
ville. There were handsome girls in the village—girls 
whose personal loveliness seemed but a transparent veil 
to the nobler graces of heart and mind; but there was 
no one who ever dreamed of disputing Sophy’s right to 
supremacy. As a child she had been petted and humored 
by all; at first from a general feeling of pity, when her 
two fair sisters and baby brother died, within a fortnight, 
of that terrible scourge of childhood—scarlet fever. 
When, a few months after, her father, too, sickened and 
died, and was buried, by sympathizing friends, beside the 
three little graves, not yet green, the almost broken¬ 
hearted widow and her remaining child were adopted 
into the hearts and home circles of their happier neigh¬ 
bors, and all their wishes henceforward considered sacred. 

The widow clung to her sole treasure with an affection 
rendered morbid by a sense of her great loss. She was a 
pious woman, and, therefore, spared no pains to instruct 
her child in the holy truths of religion, and she sought 
early to inspire in her heart a belief in the love and 
goodness of God, as well as a sense of reverence toward 
him. But with all her excellent instruction, there was 
one serious defect in the training of the child, for she 
was educated to be selfish. Every body around her, in 
their mistaken compassion, helped to develop this trait 
in her character; and it was not strange that she un¬ 
consciously learned to consider herself of primary im- 



IN MARRIED LIFE. 


119 


portance, and to assume a right to be so considered by 
others. 

In all those trivial affairs that make up the course of 
every-day life, her pleasure was consulted, and her will 
obeyed. Had she not possessed naturally a fine, amiable 
disposition, the indulgence with which she was treated 
would soon have made her an object of dislike; but, in 
spite of her unfavorable training, she grew up with many 
noble qualities of mind, and was a decided favorite in 
youthful society. 

Here, too, unfortunately, all deferred to her wishes; 
and the various excursions, parties, pic-nics, etc., that 
make up the sum' of happy rural amusements, were 
planned in accordance with her taste, and often under her 
sole dictation. 

There had never been any querying among her young 
friends as to whom Sophy would marry. Since the days 
when Jerry Curtis used to draw her to school on his 
snow-sledge, and take charge”of the little blue hood and 
red mittens that she wore, it had been generally under¬ 
stood that the imperious little belle belonged to him, 
and would become his wife in due time. If the know¬ 
ledge of this caused any maiden’s heart to beat a little 
faster than its wont, when, in the old-fashioned church, 
she detected the roguish but tender glances of Jerry’s 
dark, handsome eyes perpetually straying from the pulpit 
to the widow’s pew, she hid the emotion deep from mortal 
view, and its existence was unsuspected. If the clear, 
violet eyes, dimpling smiles, and fair golden curls that lit 
up the said pew, ever caused a flutter beneath the waist¬ 
coat of any young man, saving that of the aforesaid 
Jerry, no one was the wiser for it. And when the wed¬ 
ding-day came, and the whole village population crowded 



120 


FIRST QUARRELS 


the little church to witness the ceremony, there were 
whispered congratulations and blessings on every side. 
So it seemed, in spite of the old proverb, that the course 
of true love could sometimes run smooth. 

In the same place, and at the same time, Jerry’s only 
sister, Bessie, was also married. She had been betrothed 
for several years to a fine, worthy young man, who, hav¬ 
ing been, during that time, the sole stay and support of 
his infirm father, gave reasonable promise of proving an 
excellent husband. At any rate, Bessie seemed to have 
no unpleasant doubts in relation to it, and not a tear 
dimmed her bright eyes, as, leaning on his strong arm, 
she turned to receive the congratulations of her friends. 

In this bridal there was no sundering of dear old ties. 
There could hardly be said to be a forming of new ones, 
so long had the parties been pledged to each other. It 
seemed rather like securing the hallowed benediction of 
Heaven upon life-long associations. None of those bitter 
parting scenes that so often rend the heart of parent and 
child were to be experienced. Bessie and her husband 
were to live at the old homestead with her parents; and 
the only difference would be in his occupying Jerry’s old 
place by the fireside and at the family table. 

On the brow of a green eminence, at a short distance, 
a new white cottage awaited the presence of Jerry and 
his bride, and was also to afford a pleasant home to 
Sophy’s mother. It was on his father’s land, and in full 
view from the older house. It could be plainly seen, 
too, from Jerry’s bedroom window, where many a time 
of late he had sat till l^ite into the night, dreaming such 
visions and forming such plans for the future as only the 
heart of youth can conceive. * * * * 

In the excitement of the double wedding, and in 



IN MARRIED LIFE. 


121 


taking possession of his new house, in the old-fashioned, 
merry “ house-warming ” that ensued, and the shower of 
congratulations that fell on every side, Jerry was clearly 
convinced that he had been born with a golden spoon, or 
something equally lucky, in his mouth. Was ever mor¬ 
tal man so agreeably situated ? He looked at the big, 
imposing country residence of lawyer Bowen, the richest 
man in Lonsville, and the shaded oriel windows seemed 
to have lost the mysterious beauty that had awed his 
younger vision; and he snapped his fingers contemptu¬ 
ously as the elegant daughters of the ’Squire rode by in 
their splendid carriage. What was wealth or tinsel 
adornment in comparison with such happiness as had 
fallen to his lot? 

With Sophy, too, the honey-moon was a season of 
perpetual sunshine. She was never tired of arranging 
and re-arranging the pretty cottage furniture, or of point¬ 
ing out to admiring visitors the charming views from 
every window. 

In the evenings, when Jerry was at leisure to take up 
his flute, a continuous stream of music floated down the 
green slope, to mingle with night’s softer melodies in the 
valley, as Sophy accompanied the air he played, or her 
own sw'eeter voice, on the piano, which had been a bridal 
gift from her father-in-law. 

Her mother grew young again while witnessing her 
child’s happiness. It was something new—though Jerry 
was happily ignorant of it—for Sophy to pass one day 
without finding more or less cause for repining; and 
here were whole weeks succeeding other, and no complaint 
made of disappointed plans, or of a want of attention ou 
the part of her husband or mother. And Jerry had 
been three months married, and had not yet suspected 



122 


FIRST QUARRELS 


that he had wooed and won, and taken to his bosom that 
most ingenious of tormentors, a jealous wife. 

Sophy now began to have short fits of melancholy, 
which were wholly unaccountable to him. They did not 
last long, after a due expression of anxiety on his part, 
the clouds dispersed; but they troubled him because he 
could not understand them. He racked his brain to dis¬ 
cover the cause, but without success. Her lightest wish 
was studied, and, if possible, gratified; but still the 
shadows occasionally fell across their path. 

Sophy herself gave no explanation of her varying 
moods. She was too high-minded to deceive, and she 
was ashamed to own that his common-place expressions 
of regard for their mutual female friends, or the frank, 
cousinly kiss bestowed upon his lady cousins, were at the 
bottom of her fits of depression. Her mother looked on 
in silence, and sighed over the vanishing sunbeams. 

At last Jerry was enlightened. It happened in this 
wise. A young girl, an intimate friend of Sophy’s, had 
been spending the day with her; and w r hen Jerry came 
in from his work he found his wife very earnestly per¬ 
suading her to remain during the evening. 

“ I should like to stay, Sophy,” said her friend ; “ but 
it is a lonesome way to go after dark.” 

<c But you are not a coward, Grace ? ” 

“ I don’t know. I suspect I am not very courageous. 
I can’t bear to go by that old graveyard in the evening.” 

“ 0 fie ! Afraid of ghosts ! I wouldn’t be afraid to 
sleep there alone, so far as the spirits are concerned.” 

“Very likely. But you will please recollect that my 
aunt Lucy brought me up on ghost stories; and later 
education, and the exercise of reason, and even the hap¬ 
pier influences of religion, have not always proved suffi- 



IX MARRIED LIFE. 


123 


cient to dissipate the nameless, shrinking dread that 
comes over me whenever I find myself alone at night 
near a grave. Don’t laugh. It is foolish! I will own 
that as readily as yourself; but I can’t help it—positively 
can’t.” 

“ It is too bad,” said Sophy, who could not resolve to 
give up her plans, even to ghosts. “ I have depended 
so much on this evening. Jerry has got a new flute, 
and I wanted so much to hear you accompany it, so 
that I could judge of its tones. Do stay.” 

“Yes, Grace,” said Jerry, coming forward to second 
his wife’s entreaties, “ you must stay, if it is only to 
oblige me. Why, I have hardly seen yQu yet. I’ve 
hurried my work all the afternoon so as to secure a long 
evening.” 

He had known her all her life, and so he began, in hia 
cordial, familiar manner, to untie the strings of her bon¬ 
net and to remove her shawl. 

“ No, no, cousin Jerry.” 

“ Yes, yes, cousin Grace.” 

“ But I am really timid. I’m afraid to go home after 
dark.” 

“ What a compliment to my politeness ! You are not 
to suppose, Miss Grace, that a married life robs us of 
our manners. I will see you safely home, and scare off 
the ghosts.” 

If Jerry had glanced toward his wife, we are not sure 
that the unusual light in her eyes, and the unwonted 
crimson of her cheeks might not have served as a warn¬ 
ing to him; but he was too open and frank to suspect 
that she did not thank him for his help, and too desirous 
to gratify her whim to observe her closely. 

The short summer evening passed quickly by, although 



124 


FIRST QUARRELS 


Sophy quite lost her usual animation when her point 
was gained, and her friend again seated in the little pal ¬ 
lor. The moon rose pleasantly, in time to light Grace 
homeward; and as she stood in the door, once more 
equipped for her walk, Sophy thought it was hardly 
possible for any one to be really timid on such a night. 
“ She only pretends to be afraid,” she thought. “ It is 
only to get Jerry to go with her.” 

The question of politeness to her guest did not once 
occur to her; neither did she remember her own indig¬ 
nation on being once allowed to return home alone and 
unprotected, from the house of a newly-married friend. 
Jealousy seldom reflects much upon the claims of good- 
breeding, and poor Sophy felt very much abused when 
she saw her husband and friend ready to depart together. 
Grace noticed her depression, though unsuspicious of its 
cause. 

“ It is a glorious evening,” she said; “ light as day. 
Come, Sophy, get your hat and go with us.” 

Sophy glanced quickly toward her husband, who, un¬ 
luckily, at that moment recollected a slight cold of which 
she had complained in the morning. 

“No, no, Grace,” he exclaimed; t( the grass is wet 
with dew, and Sophy has a cold. I shall be back in half 
an hour, Sophy, unless,” he added, laughingly, as he di w 
his companion’s arm within his, “ unless Grace asks me 
to go in.” 

They went down the walk, chatting and laughing 
gayly; while poor Sophy, having closed the door, threw 
herself upon a low lounge, and wept and sobbed as if 
she had just lost her last earthly friend. It was all iu 
vain that her mother, drawn from her own room by her 
sobs, reasoned with or coaxed her; she was sure 



IN MARRIED LIFE, 


125 


i ry was too much attached to Grace, and that Grace 
returned his affection. So, quite worn out with her vain 
en eavors to restore Sophy’s peace, Mrs. Blake returned 
tc ter room, just in time to avoid a meeting with Jerry. 

At first he was greatly alarmed. He had never seen 
hi wife so violently agitated, and he feared that some 
divadful calamity had befallen her. But when, at last, 
r coaxing and soothing till he was quite discouraged, 
lu ascertained the cause of her distress, his astonishment 
was unbounded. He was sensible of a painful, involun- 
tarv feel' ;• of disgust, mingling with a natural indigna- 
But he conquered it and spoke to her in his usual 
tone and manner. • 

“ Why, Sophy,” he said, “ it was your wish that she 
should stay. I only thought of pleasing you when I 
urged her to do so. We were both unjust to her, if you 
“aaiiy wished her to go.” 

C did want her to stay. At least, I did at first. But 
I didn’t think of your going home with her, or—or of 
your being so delighted with her while she was here.” 

u You would not wish me to let her go alone, Sophy? 
And she so timid, too ! ” 

“ I don’t believe she is timid. She made you think so 
purpose to get you to go with her. I hope she will 
•q \(7 ( >me here again. She has no right to you, 

„ *» 

aiiu — 

“Stop, stop, Sophy! You will regret those unkind 
words when you are calmer. Be more just to Grace and 
to me, and more reasonable with yourself.” 

“ Go on. Say what you like. I can bear it.” Sophy 
became highly indignant as she noticed the implied rep¬ 
rimand contained in his words, and the more so because 
s .) felt that she deserved it. 



126 


FIRST QUARRELS 


“ 0, Sophy,” he answered, after a moment’s pause, 

“ how very ridiculous all this is ! ” 

“Judge for yourself. You wouldn’t have talked so 
before we were married. You never called me ridiculous 
then. 

“ I have n’t called you so now.” 

“It’s just the same thing,” said Sophy, beginning to 
cry afresh; “and—and you know you was n’t even willing 
I should walk with you when Grace asked me.” 

“ I not willing ! I thought of your cold, and, of 
course ”— 

“ 0, any thing for an excuse. But I am not so easily 
blinded as you think. I’ve .watched you before when 
Grace has been here. But I shall not stand in your way 
long,” added Sophy, suddenly assuming the air of disin¬ 
terested benevolence so natural to a jealous spirit; “ this*, 
grief will soon put an end to my life, and my sorrows 
will not annoy you when hidden in the grave. 0 dear! 
O dear! ” said Sophy, with a fresh burst of tears, “ why 
didn’t I die of scarlet fever like my sisters? But it 
won’t last long; and then, Jerry, you and Grace can have 
it all your own way.” 

Sophy had made several pauses during her speech, to 
give her husband a chance to interrupt her; but he made 
no effort to do so, and, now that she had fairly stopped, 
he remained silent. He sat by the table, leaning his 
head upon his hand. He disdained to reply to accusa¬ 
tions so undeserved; but this was not the thought that 
spread such deep shades of sadness over.his usually joy¬ 
ous countenance. It was the sudden shattering of the 
image of beauty and goodness to which he had rendered 
an almost idolatrous worship. Where were those gentle, 
womanly attributes, those refined and almost divine graces 



m MARRIED LIFE. 


127 


of heart and mind, to which his own manly nature had 
rendered homage? His wife sat before him unaltered in 
person, but only serving to recall the ideal loveliness of 
the phantom he had worshipped. It was natural that 
his first emotions should be bitter; but his was no senti¬ 
mental, shallow nature, and so he did not content himself 
with deploring his situation, but resolved, on the spot, to 
make the best of it. 

A half hour had passed by in silence ; Jerry gradually 
arriving at his noble resolution, and Sophy, with a puz¬ 
zled, anxious look, studying the varying changes of his 
countenance. She began to be conscious of her injustice, 
and ashamed of having given expression to her feelings. 
She would have given all she possessed, if, by so doing, 
the shameful words she had said to him might be blotted 
forever from his memory. She waited impatiently for 
him to address her, so that, without compromising her 
dignity, she might be coaxed back to reconciliation and 
happiness. At last, after what seemed an age, he turned 
toward her. 

“ It is getting very late, Sophy. I must be off to town 
very early in the morning; so, if you are ready, we will 
have our evening devotions now, and retire at once.” 

The tears fell fast from Sophy’s eyes, as she listened 
while he earnestly asked for the blessing of God to rest 
upon them, and that in all the affairs of life, however 
trivial in appearance, they might be guided by the Holy 
Spirit. 

“ How foolish and cruel I have been ! ” she thought; 
“but I will never be jealous again.”— Mrs. II. G. Gardner . 



128 


FIRST QUARRELS 


gfiatatig |p$tol 


It certainly must be conceded that, as a general thing, wives 
are much more excusable for their liableness to jealous feelings 
than husbands. Men are much away from home, often hundreds 
of miles distant from the circle of those who are acquainted with 
them. They are allowed to go everywhere alone , and when they 
are among strangers, nobody watches them with sharp eye to 
see where or when they stop, or who they talk to. If a married 
man is genteel in his address, comely in his appearance, and 
chooses to mingle freely in the society of ladies when far away 
from home, he has ample chances to do so without being imme¬ 
diately suspected of treachery; though his sin will surely, 
some day, find him out, and the way of such a transgressor will 
be hard. 

On the other hand, a wife stays mostly at home, where the 
Argus-eyed neighborhood, as well as, perchance, some inmate 
of her own house, would be apt soon to detect and reveal any 
undue familiarities practiced during the absence of her husband. 
When she leaves her abode to journey among strangers, if she 
is not accompanied by her husband, she is usually attended by 
some of his friends. Even when a married lady travels alone, 
if she be disposed to pass herself as unmarried, or act in any 
way regardless of her marriage vows, she is much more liable 
to detection than men generally are. Besides this, a great deal 
more is always thought and said about the flirtations of married 
women than the like acts of married men, whenever such decep¬ 
tions become known. There have been many instances in which 
a number of a married man’s acquaintances have had knowledge 
of his unconjugal hypocrisies for months and years, yet have 
withheld such knowledge from his wife. But when the wife is 
known to be similarly guilty, somebody will surely tell her 
husband almost as soon as possible. Notwithstanding all this 



IN MARRIED LIFE. 


129 


husbands are found harboring servile jealousies quite too 
frequently. The following is a case which might easily have 
its parallel.—E ditor. 

Nearly a score of years ago, in one of the middle 

States, Charles - - married the daughter of a 

worthy gentleman, then a member of the Legislature of 
the State in which he lived. Laura (for this was the 
daughter’s name) was beautiful in person, generous at 
heart, and sound in intellect. Only two years before 
Charles became her lover her parents had removed from 
an adjoining State to the home where her marriage was 
celebrated, and as she was fairly out of her teens before 
their joint removal, it is no more than we would expect 
that one so attractive as herself had received marked 
attentions from some gentleman who was Charles’s prede¬ 
cessor in love, and that he had been tenderly loved in 
return. It is but proper to say here that, prior to her 
removal from her native village, her hand had been 
eagerly sought by a young man, whom for prudence’ sake 
we must -call a little differently from his real name ; 
therefore we will call him Alfred Jimison. 

This Alfred had a sprightly mind—was quite hand¬ 
some—dressed fastidiously—and was emphatically styled 
“a lady’s man.” He and Laura were associated as 
mutual lovers about one year, and no doubt they would 
have been married even before the meridian of that time 
had not her parents wisely withheld their consent on 
account of their fears that Alfred’s moral character was 
not of the permanent kind. At last he did an act of 
injustice in dealing with one of their neighbors that fully 
convinced Laura’s parents that he possessed a sordid, 
hypocritical heart, and they decided that he must be 
banished from their dwelling, and cease at once his in- 





130 


FIRST QUARRELS 


terviews with their daughter. Indeed, Laura saw the 
danger herself, but true love does not fully decompose in 
a day, and it was hard for her to acquiesce in her parents’ 
decree. But she—like a Christian girl as she was—took 
a Christian view of the dilemma, and the Scripture 
injunction, “ Children obey your parents in all things, 
for this is well-pleasing unto the Lord,” enabled her to 
decide to “ honor ” the judgment of her father and 
mother, even in this severe test. Alfred was accordingly 
dismissed, and she, with her parents, moved shortly 
afterward to another State, as we have already seen. 

After her removal she would occasionally hear that 
Alfred was still multiplying his evil deeds, and being 
now able to view the whole affair more judiciously than 
ever before, most heartily did she thank her parents for 
their intervention in saving her from what she saw would 
have been inevitably the ruin of her peace. Therefore, 
when Charles—whom she considered much more high- 
minded and noble-hearted than Alfred—offered his hand, 
it was no wild, fractional love that prompted her to 
accept; it was her whole generous heart cured of its for¬ 
mer extravagance. Of course she frankly told Charles 
all about the way she came so near marrying Alfred, and 
all about the way she didn't marry him; and Charles 
thought he loved her all the more for quenching her 
ardent love for Alfred upon such grounds, and giving 
such a steady, pure flame of affection to himself. His 
pride was gratified immensely at the thought of getting 
the girl that rejected Alfred Jimison because he, in one 
instance, proved himself to be not exactly of “ the right 
stripe.” 

After their marriage Charles and Laura commenced 
house-keeping in a beautiful cottage upon a farm which 



1^ MARRIED LIFE. 


131 


Charles had bought, lying on the State road, about three 
miles from the town of D——. Charles traded con¬ 
siderably in various ways, and was very often away from 
home, and, frequently, his business called him to the 
adjacent town. 

A few months after the happy pair had become settled 
in their beautiful home, it so happened that Mr. S.— a 
gentleman who had married Alfred Jimison’s cousin— 
came along and bought the farm lying about three- 
fourths of a mile directly back of Charles’s, and shortly 
afterward moved upon it. The only passage from the 
main road to the log cabin of Mr. S. led, first through a 
narrow lane, thence zig-zag through a thick wood, thence 
across a ravine and through another short lane to the 
rude gate of his yard fence. A few tnonths more and 
the Christmas of 18— drew near, and Mrs. S., desiring 
that her cousin Alfred might visit herself and husband 
about that time, wrote him a letter of invitation; also 
giving him some account of the route to their dwelling 

from the town of D-. Then when it was sealed and 

directed, inasmuch as Mr. S. had no other special busi¬ 
ness at towm, Mrs. S. concluded to run over the same 
evening to neighbor Charles’s and see if he could take 
the letter to the post-office the next morning. Charles 
was not at home, but Laura told her to leave the letter 
and she would get Charles to take it, as she had heard 
him say that morning that he must go to town early the 
next day. 

“ Wait, Charles ! ” said Laura next morning, just as 
her husband was mounting his horse to start, “ wait till 
I give you a letter that Mrs. S. left with me yesterday 
for you to take to the post-office to-day. I forgot to tell 
you about it before,” and she quickly brought it, and 




132 


FIRST QUARRELS 


without looking at its superscription, Charles thrust 
it into his side-pocket and started. On his way 
he concluded to examine the exterior of the letter 
more closely. He drew it forth and read, “ Mr. Al¬ 
fred Jiinison; ” with the name of a certain post-office, 
county, and State annexed. A bad thought imme¬ 
diately entered his mind, and instead of casting it 
out headlong as he should have done, he harbored 
it till it engendered a great many bad thoughts, and 
these thoughts at length produced a harvest, as will 
hereafter be seen. He began to wonder if his own Laura 
hadn’t written the letter. He was sure that the super¬ 
scription was a lady’s handwriting, and though it differed 
from Laura’s considerably, he looked at it so long that 
he finally though! he detected some peculiarities of her 
hand, and that the difference might have been made 
expressly to deceive him. He thought if Mrs. S. had 
actually brought the letter the evening before, Laura 
would certainly have remembered to mention it sooner, 
and that, perhaps she gave it to him just as he was hur¬ 
rying to start to avoid being questioned concerning it. 
He thought it was singular, too, that she should not 
take such a letter to the post-office herself, or at any rate 
send it by some other person; and he at last concluded 
not to break it open, as his first impulse prompted, but 
send it, and say nothing about his suspicions; for if 
Mrs. S. had written it, ft would be a great crime in law 
to open it, and if his wife had really written it to her old 
lover, by watching closely he would be able to discover 
the truth, in the case, and probably behold evidences 
that would show Laura to be involved.in still deeper 
guilt. This he thought would be much better than 
making a fuss at the start, before much could be found 



IN MARRIED LIFE. 


133 


out. He remembered, too, that Laura had always before 
told him the truth about every thing, but he knew the 
human heart was often treacherous where we least ex¬ 
pected it, and perhaps Laura’s fidelity had failed her just 
at that point! He even fancied that she had not been 
quite so kind to him of late as she had formerly been. 
Poor Laura! the matter of Mrs. S.’s letter was so 
common-place a thing that she never thought of saying 
anything more to Charles about it when he returned. 

The morning before Christmas came, and Charles left 
home early, expecting to be absent till night. The day 
grew cold and sleety and night came on very dark, with 
occasional gusts of keenest wind. Charles had not yet 
returned. While Laura was awaiting, with a well-pre¬ 
pared supper and a loving, sympathizing heart, the 
coming of her husband, a loud “ halloo” was heard at 
the gate, and when she opened the door, a voice inquired 
if a lantern could be borrowed. “ We have no lantern,” 
was the reply. Then the same voice asked if “ a 
stranger who was bewildered in his route and very cold 
could get to stay all night ? ” “ Yes, sir,” said the kind- 
hearted Laura, “ you can stay.” Presently he came in 
to the light, and what was their mutual surprise when 
she recognized Alfred Jimison, and he beheld the un¬ 
mistakable countenance of the same Laura he had once 
loved so ardently. She placed a chair by the fire and 
invited him to warm himself, informing him that her 
husband, who had been gone all day upon business, 
would be home soon, and then supper would be served. 
Alfred explained to Laura that, having received a letter 
from his cousin, living somewhere in the neighborhood, 
inviting him to spend the holidays with her family, he had 
come for that purpose, but failing to find the road through 



134 


FIRST QUARRELS 


the darkness, he thought it best to procure a lantern if 
possible, and if not, at least a shelter till daylight. 

Scarcely had he finished this explanation when the 
door opened and Charles came in. His wife at once 
introduced the stranger as Mr. Alfred Jimison. No 
sooner was the name pronounced than the recollection 
of the letter came up in Charles’s mind, and he flew 
into a most disgraceful rage. His reason seemed utterly 
dethroned. Remarking that “ he was looking for some¬ 
thing like this,” he proceeded with, “Well, Mr. Alfred 
Jimison, if this is you, you had better be traveling, or 
you will suddenly meet with rough fare ! ” Jimison 
undertook to explain, but the enraged man bawled out, 
“ I’ve explanation enough—don’t want any more ! clear 
out instantly, or take what will follow ! ” Of course the 
stranger, following the principle that “ prudence is the 
better part of valor,” departed, and sought and obtained 
lodging at a house he had passed one half mile further 
back on the road. 

When he was fairly ejected from the room, Charles 
turned to Laura, who was weeping piteously, and in the 
most cruel manner accused her of unfaithfulness in 
writing to Jimison, and otherwise encouraging improper 
attentions from him by smuggling him into the house 
upon false pretences. 

It is needless to prolong the dark picture further than 
to say, that all of poor Laura’s protestations of inno- 
cency, her pleadings and her tears were unavailing to 
appease the disquietude of the hasty husband. A sepa¬ 
ration was talked of the next day, when Mr. S. and his 
wife, who had by this time heard of the difficulty, and, 
also, something of its origin, came over to do what they 
could to effect a reconciliation. Meanwhile Charles’s 



IN MARRIED LIFE. 


135 


torment had been so great that he was now willing to 
do almost anything that promised relief; therefore, he 
submitted to hear what they had to say. They fully 
explained the whole mystery; and when at last they 
produced the identical letter which Charles had accused 
Laura of writing,—Alfred having brought it with him 
to his cousin’s—he saw the magnitude of his great folly 
and the awful effects it had produced, and never did a 
penitent bewail his sin more heartily than he at this 
time. He implored Laura’s forgiveness so earnestly, 
and Laura forgave so readily and unmistakably that 
even Mr. and Mrs. S. were filled with emotion, and each 
wept with those that were weeping. The lesson of that 
affair lasted Charles through life, and the remembrance 
of it always sent a pang to his heart. He and Laura 
spent several successive years together in a comparatively 
happy manner. Two years ago an accident occurred on 
one of the eastern railroads in which he was instantly 
killed. Laura had been ever true, and her untiring 
devotion as a wife had been such that no human discern¬ 
ment could have told that she ever remembered Charles’s 
first injustice toward her after she promised to forgive 
him. Doubtless she did forgive as much as any human 
being could have done, but the following declaration 
from her own lips proves that irreparable loss had been 
sustained. After the death of her husband, to a par¬ 
ticular friend who was acquainted with the foregoing facts 
she said, “ I cheerfully did all in my power to make 
Charles happy to the last; yet I was constantly afraid 
of him. He had treated me so cruelly once without 
cause, that in spite of all I could do, I was often in a 
dread, lest in some moment of rashness, from some 
groundless suspicion, he might reproach me again.” 



136 


FIRST QUARRELS 



The latter part of the following sketch does not belong, strictly 
speaking, to the first discord, but it was a continuation of the 
same abiding cruelty on the part of the husband that produced 
the last as well as the first trouble in this case, and the article is 
inserted entire, because it shows the apalling results which the 
spirit that will cause the first discord may eventually produce. 
—Editor. 

In one of the New England States, the little church- 

hell in C-village rung merrily in the clear, morning 

air of a bright summer’s day. It was to call the people 
together, and they nearly all obeyed its summons; for 
who among the aged, middle-aged, or the young, did not 
wish to witness the marriage ceremonies of their favorite, 
Ellen Lawton ? Ere the sound of the bell had ceased, 
the gray-haired man was leaning on the finger-worn ball 
of his staff, in the corner of his antiquated pew; the hale, 
healthy farmer came next; and then the seats were filled 
with rosy-cheeked boys and girls, with here and there a 
dignified matron among them. The church became quiet, 
eager eyes were fastened upon the door. Presently a tall 
form entered, that of a handsome man, apparently about 
thirty years of age, on whose arm was leaning, in sweet, 
childlike, smiling trust, the young and loved Ellen Law- 
ton, whose rose-cheek delicately shaded the pale face, and 
who looked more beautiful in her angel loveliness than 
ever before, even to the eyes of the humble villagers, to 
whom she ever was but a “ thing of beauty ” and “ a joy 




IX MAIHilED LIFE. 


137 


forever.” If thus she looked to familiar eyes, how trans- 
ce'ndently beautiful must she have appeared to him, who 
this hour was to make her his own chosen bride, the wife 
of his bosom, the pride, the priceless jewel of his heart. 
They stood before the altar; he cast his dark eye upon 
her—she raised hers, beaming in their blue depths, all 
full of love and tenderness, and as they met his, the 
orange blossoms trembled slightly in her auburn tresses, 
and the rose-tint deepened on her cheek. The voice of 
the man of God was heard, and soon Frederic Gorton had 
promised to “ love, cherish, and protect,” and Ellen Law- 
ton to “ love, honor, and obey.” As it ever is, so it was 
there, an interesting occasion—one that might cause the 
eye to fill with tears, the heart to hope, fearfully but 
earnestly hope, that that young girl’s dreams may not too 
soon fade, that in him to whom she has given her heart 
she may ever find a firm friend, a ready counselor, a kind 
and forbearing spirit, a sympathizing interest in all her 
thoughts and emotions. On this occasion many criticis¬ 
ing glances were thrown upon the handsome stranger, 
and many whispers were circulated. 

“ I fear,” said one of the deacon’s good ladies, “ that 
he is too proud and self-willed for our gentle Ellen; ” 
and she took off her spectacles, which she wiped with her 
silk handkerchief, as if she thought they were as weary 
of the long scrutiny as her own very eyes. 

Is there truth in the good lady’s suspicion ? Look at 
Frederic Gorton, as he stands there in his stateliness, 
towering above his bride, like the oak of the forest above 
the flower at its foot. His eye is very dark and very 
piercing, but how full of tenderness as he casts it upon 
Ellen’s up-turned face! His brow is lofty, and pale, and 
stern, but partially covered with long dark hair, with 



138 


FIRST QUARRELS 


which lady’s finger had never toyed. His cheek was as 
if chiseled from marble, so perfect had the hand of nature 
formed it. His mouth—another space of Ellen’s unpen¬ 
etrating discernment, would have been reminded of 
Shakspeare’s 

“.0, what a deal of scorn looks beautiful 
In the contempt and anger of his lip.” 

There was about it that compression, so indicative of 
firmness, which, while it commands respect, as often wins 
love. 

m 

A perfect contrast to him, was the fairy thing at his 
side; gentle as the floating breeze of evening, trusting 
as true-hearted woman ever is, lovely, amiable, and beau¬ 
tiful, she was just the one to w r in a strong man’s love ; for 
there is something grateful to a proud man in having a 
delicate, gentle, confiding girl place all her love and trust 
in him, and make all her happiness derivable from his 
will and wish. Heaven’s blessing rest upon him who 
fulfills faithfully that trust reposed in him, but woe be 
unto him w r ho remembers not his vows to love and to 
cherish 1 

j The marriage service over, the friends of Ellen pressed 
eagerly around her, offering their many wishes for her 
long life and happiness. The gray-haired man, and aged 
mother in Israel, laid their hands on the young bride’s 
fair head, and fervently prayed, “God bless thee!” and 
not a few there were who gave glances upward to Frederic 
Gorton, and impressively said, 

“ Love as we have loved the treasure God transfers to 
thee.” 

The widowed mother of Ellen gazed upon the scene 



IX MARRIED LIFE. 


139 


with mingled emotions. Ellen was her eldest child, and 
had been her pride, her joy, and delight, since the death 
of her husband, many years before. She was giving her 
to a stranger, whose reputation as a man of talent, of 
worth, and honorable position in the world, was unques¬ 
tioned ; but of' whose private character she had no means 
of acquiring a knowledge. It was all uncertainty if a 
stern, business man of the world, should supply the ten¬ 
derness and devoted love of a fond mother to her whose 
wish had been hitherto scarcely ever disregarded. Yet 
it might be—she could only hope, and her trust was in 
u Him who doeth all things well.” 

For the two previous years Ellen had been at a female 
boarding-school in a neighboring State, on the anniversa¬ 
ries of which she had taken an active part in the examina- 
tory exercises. Frederic Gorton, who was one of the 
Board, was so much pleased with her that he made of the 
teachers minute inquiries in regard to her character, which 
were answered entirely satisfactorily, for Ellen had been 
a general favorite at school, as well as in her own village. 
Afterward he called on her frequently, and on her final 
return home, Frederic Gorton, who had ever been so con¬ 
fident in his eternal old-bachelorship, accompanied her, 
and sought her from her mother as his bride. Seldom 
does one so gifted seek favor of lady in vain; and Ellen 
Lawton, hitherto unsought and unwon, yielded uj3, in 
silent worship, her whole heart, that had involuntarily 
bowed itself in his presence, and became as a child in 
reverence. 

But Frederic Gorton had lived nearly tnirty-five years 
of his life among men. His mother had died in his 
infancy, his father soon after, and he, an only child, had 
been educated in the family of an old bachelor uncle. 



140 


FIRST QUARRELS 


The influence of woman had never been exerted on his 
heart. In his boyhood he had formed, from reading 
works of fiction, an idea of woman as perfection in all 
things; but as he grew in years and in wisdom, and 
learned the falsity of many youthful ideas and dreams, 
he discarded that which he had entertained of woman, 
and knowing nothing of her but by her general appear¬ 
ance of vanity and love of pleasure, he cherished for her 
not much respect, and regarded her as an inferior, to 
whom, he thought in his pride, he at least would never 
level himself by marriage. lie smiled scornfully, on 
learning his appointment as trustee of the female school, 
and laughingly said to an old bachelor companion :— 

“ They will make me to have care of the gentle weak 
ones, whether I will or no.” 

“ 0, yes,” replied his friend, who was somewhat dis¬ 
posed to be satiric, “classically speaking ,‘pulchra faciant 
te prole parentum .’ Depend upon it, this will be your 
initiation; you will surely, upon attendance there, be 
caught by the smiling graces of some pretty Venus—but 
be careful; remember there is no escape when once caught. 
Ah, my friend, I consider you quite gone. I shall soon 
see in the morning daily—‘Married, on the 12th, Hon. 

Frederic Gorton, of M-, to Miss Isabella, Mary, or 

Ellen Somebody,’ and then, be assured, my best friend, 
Fred, that I shall heave a sigh imo pectore, not for myself 
only, but for you.” 

Some prophecies, jestfully uttered, are fulfilled—so 
were those of Frederic’s friend; and when they next met, 
only one was a bachelor. 

But we will return to that bright morning when the 
bell had rung merrily—when Ellen Lawton had returned 
from the village church to her childhqod home as Ellen 




IX MARRIED LIFE. 


141 


Gorton, and was to leave it for a new home. After en¬ 
tering the parlor, Mr. Gorton said, 

“Now, Ellen, we will he ready to start in as few 
moments as possible.” 

“ Yes,” answered Ellen, “ but I wish to go over to 
Aunt Mary’s, just to bid her good-bye.” 

“But, my dear,” answered Frederic, there is not 
time ; ” looking at his watch. 

“ Just a moment,” persisted Ellen. “ I will hurry. 
I promised Aunt Mary; she is sick and can not leave her 
room.” 

And, as Frederic answered not, and as Ellen’s eyes 
were brimful of tears, she could but half see the impa¬ 
tience expressed on his countenance, and hastily de¬ 
parted. 

But Aunt Mary had many kisses to bestow upon her 
favorite, and many words and wishes to utter, brokenly, 
in a voice choked with tears: and it was many minutes 
ere she could tear herself away, and on her return she 
met several loiterers from the church, who stopped her, 
to look, as they said, upon her sweet face once more, 
and list to her sweet voice again. She hurried on—Mr. 
Gorton met her at the door, and taking her hand, said, 
sternly, 

“ Ellen, I wish you not to delay a moment in bidding 
adieu to your friends—you have already kept me waiting 
too long.” 

There was no tenderness in his voice as he uttered this, 
and it fell as a weight upon Ellen’s heart, already sad¬ 
dened at the thought of the parting with her mother and 
home friends, which must be now, and which was, soon 
over. 

As the carriage rolled away, Ellen grieved bitterly. 



142 


FIRST QUARRELS 


Mr. Gorton, wlio really loved Ellen sincerely and fondly, 
encircled her waist with his arm, and said, kindly, 

« Do you feel, Ellen, that you have made too great a 
sacrifice in leaving home and friends for me ? ” 

“ O, no,” answered Ellen, raising her love-lit counte¬ 
nance to his, “ no sacrifice could he too great to make for 
you; hut do you not know I have left all I had to love 
before I loved you ? And they will miss me, too, at 
home, and will think of me, how often, too, when I shall 
he thinking of you only ! Think it not strange that I 
weep.” 

Nevertheless, Mr. Gorton did think it strange. He 
had a very imperfect idea of the tender associations clus¬ 
tering around one’s home. He had small conceptions 
of the depth and richness and sweetness of a mother’s 
love, of a sister’s yearning fondness, for they had ever 
been denied him; consequently the emotions that thrilled 
the heart of his bride could find no response, and met 
with no sympathy in his own. It was more with wonder, 
than with any other sensation, that he regarded her 
sorrow. Was she not entering upon a newer and higher 
sphere of life? Was she not the mistress of a splendid 
mansion? Was she not to be the envied of many and 
many a one who had feigned every attraction and exerted 
every effort for the station she was to assume j and ought 
she to weep with this in view? 

Thus Mr. Gorton thought—as man often reasons. 

After having proceeded a little distance, they came 
within view of an humble cottage, when Ellen said, “ I 
must stop here, Mr. Gorton, and see Grandma Nichols, 
(she was an elderly member of the church to which 
Ellen belonged.) When I was last to see her, &he said, 
as she should not be able to walk to church to see me mar- 



IX MARRIED LIFE. 


143 


ried, I must call on her, or slie would think me proud. 
I will stop for a moment—just a moment,” she added, 
after a pause, observing he did not answer. 

They were just opposite the cottage at that moment, 
yet he gave no orders to stop. With a fresh burst of 
tears, Ellen exclaimed, 

“ Please, Mr. Gorton, let me see her. I may never 
see her again, and she will think I did not care to bid 
her a last farewell.” 

But Mr. Gorton said, “ Really, Ellen, I am very much 
surprised at the apparent necessity of trifles to make 
up your happiness. You went to see your aunt after I 
had assured you there was not time. I wish you to 
remember that your little wishes and whims, however 
important they may seem to you, can not seem of such 
importance to me as to interfere with my arrangements. 
What matters it if my bride does not say farewell to an 
old woman whom I never heard of, and shall never think 
of again, and who will probably soon die, and cease to 
remember that you slighted her?” 

And he laid Ellen’s head upon his shoulder, and 
wiping the tears from her face, wondered of what nature, 
incomprehensible, she was. 

But it did matter to her, in more respects than one, 
that she was not permitted to call at the cottage. A 
heart so sensitive as Ellen’s, feels the least neglect and 
the slightest reproof, and is equally pained for having 
given cause for pain as for receiving. Besides, how 
much was expressed in that last sentence of Mr. Gorton’s, 
accompanying the denial of her simple request! How 
much contained in that denial, too ! How plainly she 
read in it the future ! How fully did it reveal the dis¬ 
position of him by whose will she saw she was herself to 



144 


FIRST QUARRELS 


be thereafter governed ! Though her mind Was full of 
these thoughts, there was no less of love for him : love 
in Ellen Lawton could never change, though she won¬ 
dered, too, how he could refuse what seemed to her so 
easy to grant. And so they both silently pursued their 
way, wondering in their hearts as to the nature of each 
other. This, however, did not continue long; and soon 
Ellen’s tears ceased to flow, and she listened, delighted, 
to the eloquent words of her gifted husband, spoken in 
the richest and most musical of all voices. 

Woman will have love for her husband so long as she 
has admiration, and Ellen knew she would never cease 
to admire the talents and brilliant acquirements of 
Frederic Gorton. 

After several days’ travel through a delightfully ro¬ 
mantic country, they reached the town of M-, where 

was the residence of Mr. Gorton. It was an elegant 
mansion; the exterior planned and finished in the most 
tasteful and handsome style, the interior equally so, and 
furnished with all that a young bride of most cultivated 
taste could desire. The eye of Ellen was delighted and 
surprised, even to tears, and inaudibly, but fervently in 
her heart she said, “ How devotedly will I love him who 
has provided for me so much comfort and splendor, and 
how cheerfully will I make sacrifices of my feelings, c my 
wishes and my whims,’ for him who has loved me so 
much as to make me his wife ! ” and she gazed into 
her husband’s face through her tears, and kissed reve¬ 
rently his hand. 

“ Why do you weep, my Ellen ? Are you not 
pleased ? ” 

“ 0, yes; but you have done too much for me. 
I can never repay you, only in my love, which is so 




ITS MARRIED LIFE. 


145 


boundless I have hot dared to breathe it all to you, nor 
could I!” 

Mr. Gorton looked upon her with greater astonish¬ 
ment than before. Tears he had ever associated with 
sorrow; and surely, thought he, here is no occasion for 
tears, and he said, 

“Well, if you love me, you will hasten to wipe away 
those tears, and let me see you in smiles. I do not often 
smile myself, therefore the more need for my lady to do 
so. Moreover, we may expect a multitude of callers; 
and think, Ellen, of the effect of any one’s seeing the 
bride in tears.” 

Calling a servant to conduct her to her dressing- 
room, and expressing his wish for her to dress in her 
most becoming manner, he left her. 

It is unnecessary to say that Ellen was admired and 
loved by all the friends of her husband, even by his 
brother judges and politicians. Herbert Lester, the 
particular friend of Mr. Gorton, whose piophecy had 
thus been verified, came several miles to express, per¬ 
sonally, his sympathy and condolence. These he changed 
to congratulations when he felt the influence of the grace 
and beauty of the wife of his friend, and he declared that 
he would make an offer of his hand and heart, could he 
find another Ellen. 

Meanwhile time passed, and though Ellen was almost 
daily called upon to yield her own particular preferences 
to Mr. Gorton’s, as she had done even on her bridal day, 
still she was comparatively happy. Had she possessed 
less keenness of sensibility, she might have been hap¬ 
pier; or had Mr. Gorton possessed more, so that he 
could have understood her, many tears and heart-aches 
would have been spared her. Oftentimes, things com- 

13 



146 


FIRST QUARRELS 


parativelv trifling to him would wound the sensitive 
nature of Ellen most painfully, and he, of course, would 
have no conception why they should thus affect her. 

Occupied as he was, mostly with worldly transactions 
and political affairs, Ellen’s mind often, in his absence, 
reverted to the scenes of her youth, and her childhood 
home, her mother, and the bright band of her young 
sisters ; and longings would come up in her heart to 
behold them once more. 

Two years having passed without her having seen one 
member of her family, she one day asked Mr. Gorton if 

it would not be convenient soon to make a visit to 0-. 

He answered that his arrangements would not admit of 
it at present, and coldly and cruelly asked her if she had 
yet heard of Grandma Nichols’ decease. Ellen answered 
not, and bent her head over the face of her little Frederic, 
who was sleeping, to hide her tears. Perceiving her emo¬ 
tion, he added, 

11 Ellen, I assure you it is impossible for me to comply 
with your wish, but I will write to your mother, and urge 
her to visit us—will that do ? ” 

Ellen’s face brightened, as with a beam of sunshine, 
and springing to her husband’s side, she laid her glowing 
cheek upon his, and then smiled upon him so sweetly 
that even the cold heart of Frederic Gorton glowed with 
a warmth unusual. 

Seven years passed away, leaving their shadows as the 
sun does. And Ellen— 

“ But matron care, or lurking woe, 

Her thoughtless, sinless look had banished, 

And from her cheek the roseate glow 

Of girlhood’s balmy morn had vanished; 




IN MARRIED LIFE. 


147 


Within her eyes, upon her brow, 

Lay something softer, fonder, deeper, 

As if in dreams some visioned woe 
Has broke the Elysium of the sleeper.” 

Never yet, since that bright bridal morn, had Ellen 
looked upon her native village, though scarcely three 
hundred miles separated her from it. Now her heart 
beat joyfully, for her husband had told her that business 
would call him to that vicinity in a few days, and she 
might accompany him. With all the wilful eagerness of 
a child she set her heart on that visit, and from morning 
till night she would talk with her little boys of the jour¬ 
ney to what seemed to her the brightest, most sacred spot 
on earth, next to her present home. And the home of 
one’s childhood! no matter how sweet, how dear and be¬ 
loved the home the heart afterward loves, it never for¬ 
gets, it never ceases most fondly to turn back to the 
memories, and the scenes, and the friends of its early years. 

One fault, if fault it might be called, among so many 
excellencies in Ellen’s character, was that of putting off 
“ till to-morrow what should be done to-day.” This had 
troubled Mr. Gorton exceedingly, who, prompt himself, 
would naturally wish others to be so also, and, notwith¬ 
standing his constant complaints, and Ellen’s desire to 
please him, she had not yet overcome her nature in that 
respect, though she had greatly improved. The evening 
preceding the intended departure, Mr. Gorton said to his 
wife, 

“ Now, Ellen, I hope you will have every thing in 
readiness for an early departure in the morning. Have 
the boys and yourself all ready the moment the carriage 
is at the door, for you know I do not like to be obliged 
to wait.” 



148 


FIRST QUARRELS 


Almost before the stars had disappeared in the sky, 
Ellen was busy in her final preparations. She was sure 
she should have every thing ready in season, and wondered 
how her husband could suppose otherwise, upon an occa¬ 
sion in which she had so much interest. Several minutes 
before the appointed time, Ellen had all in readiness for 
the departure, the trunks all packed and locked, the chil¬ 
dren in their riding-dresses and caps; and proceeding 
from her dressing-room to the front hall door, she was 
thinking that this time, certainly, she should not hear 
the oft-repeated complaint—“ Ellen, you are always too 
late 1 ”—when, to her dismay, she met Georgie, her 
youngest boy, dripping with mud and water from the 
brook, whence he had just issued, where, he said, he had 
ventured in chase of a goose, which had impudently 
hissed at him, which insult the young boy, in his own 
conception a spirited knight of the regular order, could 
not endure, and in his wrath had pursued the offender 
to his place of - retreat, much to the detriment of his 
dress.. 

Ellen was in consternation; but one thing was evident 
— Georgie’s dress must be changed. With trembling 
hands she unlocked a trunk, and looked for a change of 
dress, while the waiting-maid proceeded to disrobe the 
child. 

Just at this moment Mr. Gorton entered, saying the 
carriage was at the door. Various things had occurred 
that morning to perplex him, and he was in a bad humor. 
Seeing Ellen thus engaged with the trunk, as he thought, 
not half packed, various articles being upon the carpet, 
and Georgie in no wise ready, the cloud came over his 
brow, and he said, harshly, 

“ I knew it would be thus, Ellen—I have never known 



IIS’ MARRIED LIFE. 


149 


you to be in readiness yet; but you must know I am not 
to be trifled with.” 

And with this, not heeding the explanation she at¬ 
tempted to make, he seized his valise and left the room. 
Jumping into the carriage, he commanded the driver to 
proceed. 

Ellen heard the carriage rolling away, in astonishment. 
She ran to the door, and watched it in the distance. But 
she thought it could not be possible he would go without 
her—he would return: and she hastened the maid, and 
still kept watching at the door. She waited in vain, for 
he returned not. 

The excitement into which Ellen was thrown by the 
anticipation of meeting her friends once more, may be 
readily imagined by those similarly constituted with her, 
and the reaction occasioned by her disappointment, also. 
Her heart had been entirely fixed upon it, and what but 
cruelty was it in her husband to deprive her thus so un¬ 
reasonably of so great an enjoyment—to her so exquisite 
a pleasure ? 

In the sudden rush of her feelings she recalled the 
last seven years of her life, and could recollect no 
instance in which she had failed doing all in her power 
to contribute to her husband’s happiness. On the other 
hand, had he not often wounded her feelings unneces¬ 
sarily ? Had he ever denied himself any thing for her 
sake, but required of her sacrifice of her own wishes to 
his ? 

The day wore away, and the night found Ellen in a 
burning fever. The servant who went for the physician 
in the early morning, said she had raved during the latter 
part of the night. As the family physician entered the 
room, she said, mildly, 



150 


FIRST QUARRELS 


11 0, do not go and leave me ! I am all ready—all 
ready. Do not go—it will kill me if you go.” 

The doctor took her hand ; it was very hot; and her 
brow was terribly throbbing and burning. He remained 
with her the greater part of the day, but the attack of 
fever on the brain had been so violent that no attempt 
for relief was of avail. 

She grew worse ; and, about midnight, with the words, 

“ 0, do not go, Mr. Gorton—do not go and leave me ! ” 
—her spirit took its flight. 

And the morning dawned on Ellen in her death-sleep 
—dawned as beautiful as that bright one, when the bell 
rang merrily for her bridal. Now the dismal death-notes 
pealed forth the departure of her spirit to a brighter 
world. Would not even an angel weep to look upon one 
morning, and then upon the other ? 

The birds, from the cage in the window, poured forth 
their songs; but they fell unheeded on the ears they had 
so often delighted. The voices of Fred and Georgie, 
ever as music to the loving heart of the young mother, 
would fall thrillingly on her ear no more. She lay there, 
still and cold—her dreams over—her hopes all passed by 
—the sun of her young life set—and how ? 

People came in, one after another, to look upon her—• 
and wept that one so young and good should die. They 
closed her eyes—they laid her in her grave-clothes, and 
folded her pale hands—and there she lay 1 

And now we leave that chamber of the too-early dead. 
Mr. Gorton’s feelings of anger soon subsided. In a few 
hours he felt oppressed with a sense of the grief Ellen 
would experience. His feelings prompted him to return 
for her. Several times he put his head out of the window 
to order the driver to return, but, his pride intervening, 



IN MARBIED LIFE. 


151 


he as often desisted. Yet his mind was ill at ease. He, 
also, involuntarily, reviewed the period of his wedded 
life. He recalled the goodness, and patience, and sweet¬ 
ness, which Ellen had ever shown him—the warm love 
she had ever evinced for him ; and his heart seemed to 
appreciate, for the first time, the value and character of 
Ellen. He felt how unjust and unkind he had often 
been to her—he wondered he could have been so,—and 
resolved that, henceforth, he would show her more 
tenderness. 

As he stopped for the night, at a public house, his 
resolution was to return early in the morning. Yet, his 
business must be attended to. It was a case of emer¬ 
gency. He finally resolved to intrust it with a lawyer 
acquaintance, who lived a half day’s ride from where he 
then was. Thus he did ; and, about noon of the following 
day, started homeward. He was surprised at his own 
uneasiness and impatience. He had never so longed to 
meet Ellen. He fancied his meeting with her—her joy 
at his return—her tears for her disappointment—his 
happiness in restoring her heart to happiness, by an 
increasing tenderness of manner, and by instantly grati¬ 
fying her wish of a return home. 

All day and part of the night he traveled. It was 
early morning when he arrived at his own door. He was 
surprised at the trembling emotions and quickened beat¬ 
ing of his heart, as he descended the steps of his carriage, 
and ascended those to his own door. He passed on to 
the room of his wife. The light gleamed through the 
small opening over the door, and he thought he heard 
w r hispers. Softly he opened the door. 0 ! what a terri¬ 
ble, heart-rending scene was before him !—The watchers 
left the room; and Mr. Gorton stood alone, in speech- 



152 


FIRST QUARRELS 


less agony, before the being made voiceless by him¬ 
self. 

The sensibility so long slumbering within his worldly, 
hardened heart, was aroused to the very keenness of 
torture. And Ellen, gentle spirit that she was,—how 
would she have grieved to have seen the heart she had 
loved, so overwhelmed with grief, regret, remorse, de¬ 
spair ! 

“ Ellen ! my own Ellen ! ” 

But she could not hear ! 

“ I have killed thee, gentlest and best! ” 

But the kindness of her heart was not open now ! 11 1 
forgive thee,” could not fall from those lips so pale ! “ I 
love thee,” could never come ujDon his ear again— never —- 
and “Never ! ” thrilled his soul, every chord of which 
was strung to its intensity ! 

If anything could have added to the grief inconsolable 
of the man stricken in his sternness and pride, it was 
the grief of his two motherless boys, as they called on 
their mother’s name in vain, and asked him why she 
slept so long. 

Few knew why Ellen died so suddenly and so young; 
but, while Mr. Gorton preserved in his heart a memory 
of her virtues, he remembered, and mourned in bitter¬ 
ness and unavailing anguish, that it was his own thought¬ 
less—but not the less cruel—unkindness, that laid her in 
her early grave. 

Seldom came the smile again upon his face; and never, 
though fond mothers manoeuvered and insinuated, and 
fair daughters flattered and praised, did he wed again; 
for his heart was buried with his Ellen, whom he, too 
late, loved as he should have loved. 

Washington Irving, in his beautiful “ Affection for the 



m MARRIED LIFE. 


153 


Dead,” says : “ Go to the grave of buried love, and 
meditate. There settle the account with thy conscience, 
for every past benefit unrequited, every past endearment 
unregarded. Console thyself, if thou c-anst, with this 
simple, yet futile tribute of regret, and take warning by 
this, thine unavailing sorrow for the dead, and hencefor¬ 
ward be more faithful and affectionate in the discharge 
of thy duties to the living! ” 



154 


FIRST QUARRELS 


at m Hagidtliiig Wife. 


Before proceeding to the subject matter of this 
sketch, allow me, my young friends, to exhort you to 
strive earnestly at self-culture and self-control before 
taking a step which involves your all of earthly happi¬ 
ness, as well as that of the individuals, whom, before 
Heaven, you promise to honor, love, and cherish during 
your sojourn in a state where mutual forbearance and 
mutual concessions are constantly demanded. My female 
friends, though the chosen companion of your life may 
not be all you had, in the ardor of your affection, painted 
him, he is still the man you promised to “ love, honor 
and obey; ” and to your keeping, in a great degree, is 
committed his reputation, his usefulness in life, his social 
tastes and fire-side enjoyments. Mutual improvetnent is, 
undoubtedly, one of the ends of the marriage institution ; 
but any attempt at correction or reproof should be min¬ 
gled with great kindness of manner. If the contrary 
course be adopted, the desired effect is worse than lost. 

After a reasonable courtship, Joseph and I were at 
length married. It seemed to me I had never been so 
happy before. Weeks passed as days. Surrounded by 
an atmosphere of love and kindness, my faults were not 
called out, and Joseph, in his mistaken fondness, thought 
me all that his warm heart and noble nature could 
desire. 

Soon after our marriage, we commenced house-keeping 
in a neat, pretty house, just suited to our wants. I was 



IN MARRIED LIFE. 


155 


enabled to nearly furnish it with the avails of my year’s 
teaching, and the kind assistance of mother and sisters. 
Neatness and order were largely developed in my habits, 
and for some time, nothing occurred to mar the happi¬ 
ness of our daily life. One evening I had to wait longer 
than usual for Joseph to come to his tea; and suffered 
a long-suppressed feeling of impatience to betray itself 
in the peevish tones in which I exclaimed, as soon as he 
entered the dining room, (C The tea is all cold; why did 
you not come before ? ” 

“ I could not, my dear, as there was no one to stay in 
the store,” was the mild reply which should have put the 
subject to rest, as I knew that Joseph’s business must 
necessarily occupy his whole time : he being head clerk 
in the establishment with which he was connected, ex¬ 
pecting, in the course of two or three years, to be taken 
into partnership; therefore it was necessary for him to 
be active, and attentive. All this I knew, but like many 
wives, I took little interest in business affairs, and did 
not consider that they had any claims paramount to my 
convenience. 

I know, my friend, that when you read this, you will 
bitterly reproach me for unkindness to one who loved me 
better than life,—one too, for whom, at times, I would 
have laid down my life, and every thing else, save my 
will. The loss of him at this time would have broken 
my heart, but being naturally impulsive, that intense 
love that for a time controlled infirmities of temper, was 
overcome, and I had suffered them to gain the ascendency, 
thus dashing from our lips the cup of happiness. I allowed 
myself to forget that the same guard over my conduct, and 
the same effort was necessary to preserve the affections of 
the husband, that were employed to please the lover. 



156 


FIRST QUARRELS 


But, to return. That night I sat up late, yet my 
husband delayed his coming. “Ah!” thought I, “he 
thinks to frighten me into submission by staying out late; 
(a thing he had never done before,) but he will find his 
mistake.” Ascertaining that he had taken the night key, 
I determined to sit up no longer. I retired, but sleep 
would not come to my eyes. The mild beams of the 
moon came stealing through the window, filling the room 
with fantastic shapes of light and shade, bearing to my 
troubled mind a self-examination too long deferred. As 
the night deepened and my husband came not, I wept 
bitter tears of self-accusation, and in proportion to my 
fears for his safety, did my repentance for the past, and 
resolves for the future, deepen and expand. 

Small matters like these should have been borne 
patiently, but in the absence of greater trouble, I suffered 
scores of trifling things to irritate me to that degree that 
I threatened to “ turn over a new leaf,” which was but 
another form of saying, “ Unless I can have things my 
own way, I shall give my husband a lesson.” He bore 
my oft-reiterated complaints about what appear to me 
now to have been “ trifles light as air;” without resent¬ 
ment, offering good reasons (excuses I called them) for 
not complying with my wishes. 

One day after I had reproached him with thinking 
more of his business than of his wife, he rose to go out, 
and as he did so, he turned to me with a look that 
should have sent remorse to my heart, and fixing on me 
those liquid grey eyes, expressive more of sorrow than 
anger, “ Clara,” said he, “ if you find it so troublesome 
waiting for me, do not wait any more, but take your 
meals and clear away the things without regard to me.” 
When he had gone, the demon Temper, that should have 



IIST MARRIED LIFE. 


157 


been cast behind me, prompted me to take him at bis 
word. Accordingly, when the time came, I prepared 
the evening meal, and after waiting a few moments, I sat 
down, ate alone, then cleared away the table and took 
up my sewing. In a few moments more Joseph came 
in, and without raising my eyes from my work, I told 
him, in as unconcerned a manner as possible, that “ he 
need not have come for his tea; I had cleared it away! ” 
Without saying a word he turned and left the house. 

I knew the store had been closed some time before, 
and as we had few friends—indeed none—with whom he 
could be spending the evening, “Where can he be?” 
was the constantly recurring question. Just as the clock 
struck one, I heard the click of the night key, and also 
his step on the stairs. With my fears vanished repentance 
from my volatile heart, and I was prepared to pour a storm 
of invective upon his head. He paused at the door, and 
as the moon shone full on his face, I perceived that he 
was pale and excited, and in the moonlight presented a 
ghastliness that shocked me so much that I sprang from 
the bed exclaiming, “Joseph, what is the matter?” He 
stared at me an instant, and in an excited tone replied, 
“ Don’t be a fool, Clara ! go back to bed and let me 
alone ! ” The truth flashed on my mind, and I indig¬ 
nantly turned from him, and again pressed my pillow, 
where I sought in my mind to fasten the blame on him, 
rather than take any share myself. The next day 
nothing was said of the occurrences of the preceding 
day and night : in fact, there were few words spoken on 
any subject. I felt injured, and a gloom seemed to have 
settled on the countenance and manner of my husband. 

It was not until years after this that I knew what I 
may as well mention now. When Joseph left the store on 



158 


FIRST QUARRELS 


that eventful night, he paused a moment on the threshold 
uncertain whither to.direct his steps; dreading after the 
toils of the day to encounter the fretfulness of an arbi¬ 
trary wife at home. Home ! Ah ! home no longer to 
his gentle and peace-loving spirit. Just then an acquain¬ 
tance came up, and accosting him gaily invited him to 
go and partake of an oyster supper that was to he served 
at a fashionable restaurant. But Joseph excused him¬ 
self, and decided immediately to return to me. Then 
when he had done so, and I had thrust him away from 
his own dear “ ingle-side ” by my cold language about 
his tea, he thought again of the oyster supper, and, 
unhappily, his stomach prompted his mind to accept 
the invitation. He went. That night the tempting 
wine-cup was held to his lips; a second and a third 
followed in rapid succession, and in this state he sought 
his chamber, as we have already seen. 

Following this, there came a succession of days and 
months, fraught with the deepest misery to both of us. 
I will draw a veil over the recollections of this period, 
only mentioning that but a few months had elapsed 
before the hollow cheeks and bloodshot eyes told a tale 
that none who saw him could fail to understand. My 
husband’s conduct and appearance at this time, instead 
of causing self-reproach and exciting pity, led me to 
look upon myself as one of the most injured of wives; 
and my selfish and wicked heart hardened toward him 
till I rarely spoke, save in harshness and revenge. 

We had now been married about two years. One 
morning Joseph went to the store as usual, but soon 
returned. On looking at him, I caught my breath in 
astonishment. His eyes were wild, gleaming like hot 
coals, and he staggered across the room, and would have 



IN MARRIED LIFE. 


159 


fallen had he not grasped a chair into which he sank. 
He sat a moment, as if collecting his thoughts, then in 
a voice tremulous and solemn, while I almost felt his 
burning gaze, he said, “ Clara, this day I am a ruined 
man! My employers have watched my steps—have 
expostulated with me; but finding it to no purpose, this 
day, on which I should have been raised to an honorable 
and profitable position, finds me cast off—sick—broken¬ 
hearted— alone—without money, and without friends. 
Trouble and disappointment drove me to the wine-cup; 
then, to find oblivion for my sorrows, I neglected my 
business, became involved in debt, and this is the con¬ 
sequence ! ” 

Joseph began rapidly to decline. Neither love nor 
care could save him, and soon they laid him in a shady 
nook beneath the great willow in the corner of his 
father’s farm, and the little brook that babbles by, mur¬ 
murs his requiem to this day. Just as his eyes were 
about closing forever on this world I knelt beside him 
with my boy in my arms; my husband placed one wasted 
hand on the child’s head, and the other on mine, and 
said, “ Clara, inasmuch as you love me, guard well the 
footsteps of Willie. I intrust his happiness to your 
keeping, believing our Heavenly Father will bless your 
endeavors. Farewell, my wife and child ! Heaven bless 
and keep you both ! ” 

I have considered this, his dying trust, a sacred one; 
and have executed it, with what success the well-ordered 
life of my son will attest. 

“ How full, ere heaven recalls the breath, 

The cup of woe may be 1 ” 



100 


FIRST QUARRELS 


gv ipigitatu. 


CHAPTER I. 

“ I wish 1 was dead ! ” 

The person who uttered this rather questionable wish, 
was a young and handsome woman. She sat on a low, 
cushioned stool, in the recess of a French window, which 
overlooked one of the finest squares of the city. 

There was nothing in the pleasant room, or its rather 
luxurious furniture, to inspire such a wish, «nd yet it 
was uttered with an unaffected sincerity. There was a 
carelessness in her attire, a negligence in the arrangement 
of her abundant hair, that would have been quickly 
noticed in a woman of fewer personal charms, but which 
only served in her case to indicate some great sorrow. 

An orphan from her infancy, she remembered nothing 
of the yearning maternal love that had watched over the 
first few months of her life, or of the blessing so long 
ago whispered by the lips of her dying father. She only 
knew that they were young and lovely, that they had 
garnered her in their affections as their most precious 
treasure, and that the “ pestilence that walketh in dark¬ 
ness,” the fearful cholera, which had desolated so many 
household hearths, had in one day left her fatherless 
and motherless. 

Still her infancy and youth had passed happily by, 
under the care of an indulgent, but wise guardian, and 
with her constant attendant, Kathleen, who had been her 



IN MARRIED LIFE. 


161 

mother’s favorite servant, and whose love for the orphan 
child could scarcely have been greater if it had really 
been her own. 

“Ome! I wish I was dead ! ” 

She had been thinking of her early orphanhood, and 
then of her first meeting with him who for five years 
had been her husband. The first happy years of her 
wedded life shone out vividly upon the page of her 
memory, and she recalled, one by one all the dear asso¬ 
ciations of that happy time, ere she permitted herself 
to review the late miserable months which had darkly 
overshadowed all. 

“ 0, don’t go for saying such dreadful things o’ ye- 
self, Miss Bertha, dear,” said Kathleen, who had entered 
in time to hear her exclamation. 

“ It is only the truth, Kathleen.” 

“ It’s likely. But it has a sound o’ wickedness for 
all that. Cheer up. It’s brighter days are in store for 
ye, now the masther is coomin’.” 

“ I can not see him. I’d rather die.” 

“No, no! His coomin’ home will soon explain all 
things to yer likin’. Ye mind bettlier nor me how sad 
he was at the laving home, and how joyfully he spake 
o’ the time o’ coomin’ back. O, thin little did he or any 
one else think what a weary time it would be! But it 
has inded at last, and thanks be to God, for your sake, 
mavourneen ! ” 

“ 0, Kathleen, how can you speak as if he were coming 
to a home unchanged ! Look at me ! ” She pushed up 
her sleeve, and held up her arm, still beautiful in its 
transparent delicacy, but fearfully thin. “ It is his work, 
Kathleen.” 

“No, no ! It’s a mistake altogether. He loved ye too 

14 



162 


FIRST QUARRELS 


well to harm a hair o’ your head. Ye were the core o’ 
his heart, a cushla, and niver a change will ye find in 
him at all. God bless him ! The kind young masther 
that he was ! ” 

Many a time had Kathleen endeavored to inspire her 
young mistress with the hope that animated her own 
breast, that “ the coomin’ o’ the masther would put all 
right, for shure,” but always in vain. The cause of 
Bertha’s sorrow was a secret closely locked in her own 
breast, and all the entreaties of her faithful nurse had 
failed to secure her confidence in regard to it. 

11 It’s he that will fret o’er yer pale cheeks where he 
left the roses a bloomin’, an’ it’s many a heart-ache he’ll 
have, an’ ye gethin’ thinner and paler under his own 
eyes.” 

“ I am not afraid of his grief for me hurting him. 
There is no danger of his breaking his heart on my 
account. Hark ! Is not that the clock ? It is half-past 
nine, and the cars will be in at ten.” 

“ But ye will change yer dress to be sure ? It’s paler 
than a ghost ye are in that white wrapper.” 

“ No. What does it matter ? ” 

“ At the least, darlin’, let old Kathy dress yer hair.” 

“ Well, hurry then.” 

She sat silently musing while Kathleen took down and 
smoothed the heavy shining bands, apparently unheed¬ 
ing her employment. When her hair was dressed, and 
Kathleen, catching a glimpse through the window of a 
familiar form rapidly approaching the house, hastily 
left the room, she still sat motionless, absorbed in an 
unpleasant reverie. Even the manly step upon the stairs, 
so long ago familiar to her ear, and welcome as music 
to her heart, failed to rouse her j and so she sat still, her 



IN MARRIED LIFE. 


163 


small white hands clasped over her knee, while her long- 
absent husband paused at the open door for the greeting 
that should have welcomed his return. 

lie had been absent three years, transacting business in 
Europe for the mercantile firm of which he was the junior 
partner. He was a tall, stout-built man of thirty years ; 
not handsome, perhaps, hut with an open intellectual 
countenance that was a true index of the nobility of his 
character. Three years of absence! They had seemed 
long in passing, but as he stood in the familiar room, and 
noted the well-known arrangement of every thing in it, 
it seemed but yesterday that he had so reluctantly left 
home for his long voyage. 

The first two happy years of his married life had been 
spent here; he thought of the next two, scarcely less 
happy in their flight, because of the unreserved and 
affectionate correspondence by letter with his wife, and 
the hope, so often disappointed, of being able to return 
home; and then he thought of the last year, during 
which he had only heard from her through the kindness 
of a friend. 

When his letters to her first remained unanswered, he 
had attributed her silence to illness, and he wrote in his 
alarm to an old college friend, who resided in the same 
neighborhood. In due time came the answer, but it 
changed his anxiety to astonishment and indignation, for 
it represented Bertha as being quite well, and a leader 
in gay society. 

“ Now, George,” wrote his friend in conclusion, “ don’t 
fret about this whim of your pretty wife. You couldn’t 
expect her to always live like a hermit, you know. Her 
appearance produces more effect than the 1 coming out ’ 
of any young miss of the season, and people —not over - 



164 


FIRST QUARRELS 

wise —are continually wondering liow she has contented 
herself to keep such rare beauty as hers in seclusion. She 
adorns her new station well, and the beautiful Mrs. Linton 
is the acknowledged star of the season.” 

George Linton crushed the letter in his hand, and did 
not write again either to his friend or his wife for many 
months. His business had prospered so that it might be 
safely left in the hands of an agent; but he felt no dispo¬ 
sition to leave Europe till another letter from his friend, 
by re-awakening his anxiety for the health of his wife, 
inspired also an unendurable longing for home. 

“ There is a mystery about Mrs. Linton,” wrote his 
friend, “ that I can not fathom. She disappeared from 
society as suddenly as she had entered it, and has been 
spending a couple of months in the country with your 
aunt. I saw her yesterday for the first time since Ler 
return. She came into the library to choose a book. 
I was struck with her pale and fragile look. There was 
a settled sadness in the expression of her face when in 
repose, that excited my pity, much as I was disposed to 
blame her for your sake. As in duty bound, I asked 
for the latest accounts of yourself. A slight color tinged 
her cheek, but was gone in a moment, and she replied 
coldly, that c her last letter from you had represented you 
as being well and happy.’ I knew how long ago that 
‘ last ’ letter was written, and that it had never been 
answered, and I pitied her in spite of her haughty man¬ 
ner. I can’t advise you, my dear fellow, but don’t you 
think you had better come home, if only for a visit?” 

On his arrival at New York, George had written a 
brief note to his wife, announcing his arrival, and his 
intention of being home as soon as practicable. As he 
rapidly journeyed toward his native city, many bitter 



IN MARRIED LIFE. 


165 


thoughts were involuntarily suggested to his mind. 
M hat had he done that he should creep, like an unwel¬ 
come stranger, to his own fireside ? But when he stood 
at last in the open door, and his quick attentive eye 
had noted the changes in his wife’s appearance, that 
had been described by his friend, every trace of dis¬ 
pleasure vanished from his thoughts, and pity and wonder 
succeeded. 

“ Bertha ! ” 

She started. It was the old loving tone for which she 
had so yearned. For a moment her eyes sparkled, she 
sprung .from her seat with the old impulse to fly to his 
arms, but she stopped suddenly, and while her cheek 
again paled, she folded her arms tightly across her beat¬ 
ing heart and sank again into her seat. 

“ You are ill, Bertha,” he said, anxiously approaching 
her, forgetting, in his anxiety, the doubtful character of 
his reception. “ Let me ring the bell for Kathleen.” 

“ No. I am not ill.” 

She soon recovered her composure—the cold, haughty 
composure that seemed so unnatural to her; and though 
her cheek and lips remained almost colorless, there was 
no tremor in her voice, as she congratulated him upon 
his safe return—common-place words, such as she might 
have used in speaking to any stranger. 

“Was the sea voyage pleasant?” 

“ Not particularly so. You will remember that the 
weather has been stormy here. We were twice in 
extreme danger of shipwreck.” 

She rose quickly to hide the emotion that the idea 
of his peril awakened, and going to a table returned to 
her seat with her work-box in her hand. He watched 
her as she bent her head over the work that she took 



166 


FIRST QUARRELS 


from it. Pity and the cld love still controlled his rising 
displeasure at her coldness. 

“ This box has been carefully used, Bertha, if it is 
the keepsake I bought for you six years ago.” 

There was some association with the box that had 
once been a pleasant one, and he remembered that she 
used laughingly to say that no work of hers prospered 
with any other tools than those the box afforded. 

“ It is not the same,” she replied. “ This was the gift 
of your aunt Mercy.” 

“And the old one?” 

“ Is somewhere about the house, I dare say.” 

She did not tell him that the box, with the rings that 
he missed from her fingers, the gold watch, and the minia¬ 
ture-likeness of himself, with many other gifts of his, 
were stowed away in a closet opening from her chamber, 
to which no one had access but herself. 

“ I should like the old box, if it has become valueless 
to you.” 

“ I will tell Kathleen to look it up and put it in your 
room.” 

“ And the new piano that we selected just before I left 
home. I remember that you wrote of the wonderful im¬ 
provement you made in playing, though I am sure no¬ 
thing could be more delightful than the old songs. Do 
you play much ?” 

“ I have n’t opened the piano,” she answered, in a hesi¬ 
tating manner, “ for a year.” 

He looked surprised. 

“ A year! Does not the piano please you ?” 

“ No—yes,” she answered, hastily correcting herself, 
“ the piano is well enough. It has been greatly admired. 
But I don’t like music.” 



IX MARRIED LIFE. 


1G7 


“ I am sorry. I used to think, when I remembered 
the pieces that had so charmed me here, and when I read 
your accounts of the progress you were making in your 
practice of music, what a pleasure was in store for me if 
I ever got home again.” 

He sighed deeply as he spoke, for again the injustice 
of his position at home rose in contrast with what he had 
once hoped it might be, and a stern look, once quite for¬ 
eign to his features, but now become rather habitual, 
passed over his face. But one glance at the pale face, so 
changed from the rosy, merry one that he remembered so 
well, prevented the expression of the indignant thoughts 
already trembling on his lips. i 

Determined, if possible, to find some clue to the mys¬ 
tery, he asked all the usual questions of a returned wan¬ 
derer. Gradually the conversation became less restrained, 
and once, when he was describing a rather comic adven¬ 
ture amid the romantic Alpine scenery of Switzerland, 
her eyes met his with the old fond look, and a merry 
smile played for a moment around her lips. His face 
brightened perceptibly. 

“ I shall soon regain her confidence and affection,” he 
thought, “ and then the mystery will be solved. Poor, 
altered Bertha! How much she has suffered ! ” 


CHAPTER II. 

George Linton was doomed to disappointment in all 
his efforts to understand the cause of the alteration in 
his wife. Any approach to the subject in his conversa- 




168 


FIRST QUARRELS 


tion with her only served to increase the coldness and 
distance between them, and the fear of aggravating her 
ill health prevented his urging the matter. 

Still he tried, by attention to her wishes, and by his 
evident solicitude for her happiness, to win back her lost 
trust in him. But day after day, and week after week 
passed by, and, excepting a gradual improvement in her 
health, there was no change in her. 

At last he became discouraged. He began to think it 
unmanly to spend all his time in vain attempts to win 
back a love and confidence that were his by right, and 
which he had never abused. There were many paths of 
usefulness open before him; active, honorable men were 
needed in public life, and a fine opportunity to distin¬ 
guish himself was offered him. If he could never be 
happy, might he not be useful? The foreign agent of the 
firm had resigned his trust, and it was necessary that 
some one should again visit Paris in their behalf. A 
permanent residence there might be necessary, and there 
seemed no reason why the senior partners should be 
separated from their families, when his own absence 
would not be felt. He sat alone, revolving such gloomy 
thoughts in his mind, one fine morning, when his wife 
had gone to ride. At last a sudden idea seemed to strike 
him favorably, and he rung the bell to summon Kath¬ 
leen. She came at once, smoothing down her clean linen 
apron and arranging the wide cambric ruffles of her cap, 
by the way. 

“ Kathleen, I want to speak to you.” 

She shut the parlor door and stood leaning against it. 

“What is it that has so changed your young mistress?” 

“ Changed, sir?” 

“Yes. You are not so blind as not to see that she is 



IN MARRIED LIFE. 


169 


not tlie same person that she was when I went to 
Europe.” 

“ That is true, sir.” 

“ Well, what has occasioned the change ? ” 

“ I don’t know, sir, indade.” 

“ You are with her a great deal, Kathleen, and you 
have always known and loved her; you must surely have 
some idea of the truth. I have been thinking that she 
might be happier if I were away; and we must either 
send an agent to Paris, or one of the firm must go. I 
should be—” 

“ 0, thin,” interrupted Kathleen, “ don’t ye do it at 
all. If ye’ve a spark o’ love for Miss Bertha, don’t ye 
g°*” 

He looked surprised. 

“ You know very well, Kathleen,” he added, gently, 
“ that all this misery of Bertha’s is somehow connected 
with me. I’m sure I don’t know how, but if I were 
away, and she had no expectation of ever seeing me 
again, she might—” 

“ It would jist kill her,” said Kathleen, decidedly, in¬ 
terrupting him again. “ She would niver hould up her 
pritty head agin. I know how she was whin ye were 
away, an’ I can see how she is since ye came home, and 
it’s betther she is gettin’, intirely. It’s ase o’ the mind 
is what she nades most o’ all, and no one but yerself, sir, 
and that’s the thruth, can help her.” 

“ Well, Kathleen, tell me just how this sad state of 
things began. I can not help her unless I can find out 
what is the matter.” 

0, thin,” said Kathleen, wiping her eyes on her apron 
as she spoke, “ I don’t know, for shure, any more than 
yerself. But I know more than she thinks for.” 

15 



170 


FIRST QUARRELS 


“ Tell me all you know, for lier sake.” 

“ Well, sir, it was a little above a year before ye coom 
home, I mind it as if it was yestherday, because she was 
so pleased and lively over a letther from you that the 
post-boy had brought in. I was dressin’ her hair, for 
nobody can do it to feel asy and snoog-like, barrin’ ould 
Kathy.” 

“ Yes, I know.” 

“ I was dressin’ her hair, and pritty it is, so dark, and 
with waves like gold whin she sits in the light—” 

“ Yes, Kathleen. And wliat happened then ? ” 

“ Happened ? Nothing at all jist then; but I spies 
another letther lying on the toilet-table. The sealing 
was whole, and says I, 

“ ‘ See, Miss Bertha, dear, ye’ve clane forgot to rade this 
in yer joy o’ the other.’ 

44 4 So I have,’ says she; ‘ but it’s to George, instead of 
me.’ 

“ 4 That’s quare,’ says I, 1 an’ he for two years over the 
sa.’ 

“ 4 1 think so too,’ she says, c but it may be one of the 
begging letters that always come to his name. Some So¬ 
ciety wants money. And just look, Kathy, what a faint 
little cramped hand it is directed in.’ ” 

44 So I looked, and. I told her what I thought, for shure 
that it did not look much like her own beautiful writin’. 
For indade, sir, it’s few paple that can put pen to paper 
like Miss Bertha. It’s like a pictur whin she—” 

44 1 know, Kathleen. Her writing is very fine, but I 
am anxious to know what happened next.” 

*■ “Yes, indade. Well, sir, she kept turnin’ the letther 
over and over in her hand, and spakin’ about it, and 
biddin’ me mind the faint writin’, but I could see that 



IN MARRIED LIFE. 


171 


slie were all the time radin’ her letther from you that 
still lay open on the table before her. So I said agin, 
“ ‘ Shure now, an’ the letther may be from the masther’s 
own sister.’ 

“‘No,’ she answered, ‘for Lucitta knows he is far 
away. I suppose I must open it,’ she says, for unless it 
is of more consequence than it looks, it would not be 
worth while to forward it to George. I will read it while 
you get my toast and coffee, and then tell you all about it.’ ” 
“ You see that I know exactly how she likes her coffee, 
an’ the ingregencies —” 

“ Yes. Did she read the letter ? ” 

“ I will tell you about it. I made the toast and the 
coffee, and hurried up stairs, for indade I felt a little 
euros, as was nateral. But when I opened the door, I 
was sthruck all o’ a thremble, for there sat Miss Bertha, 
as white as the snow, wi’ the letther all crumpled up in 
her hands, and her eyes starin’ so big and wild. Ye 
would have been frightened yerself, sir.” 

“ No doubt of it.” He was listening with breathless 
interest. “ Go on, Kathleen.” 

“ 0, thin, the great woe had coom to her for shure. 
Not a bit o’ word did she spake for hours, and to all my 
cryin’ and soothin' she were dafe intirely. At the last I 
thried to get the botherin’ letther away, and thin she 
came to herself, an’ broke out into tears. Och, sich 
tears ! sich cryin’, as if her heart were breakin in pieces! 
But it did her good,” added Kathleen, crying herself, as 
George walked to a window to hide his emotion. 

“Did she never tell you what was in the letter?” he 
asked, as soon as he could control his voice. 

“ Niver a word. There were odd words she spake in 
her great disthress, but I could not put them together to 



172 


FIRST QUARRELS 


make sinse o’ them, for shure she was out o’ her head 
intirely.” 

“Do you remember them?” he asked, eagerly. “Tell 
me all you can recollect.” 

“ She were clane crazy, sir.” 

“Never mind that. What did she say?” 

“ Well, sir,” answered Kathleen, with evident reluc¬ 
tance, “ she repeated over and over again this one thing: 
‘ If sJie is his lawful wife, 0, what am II ’ ” 

“ What could she mean?” 

“ She were crazy, sir, and meant nothin’ at all.” 

“And you never found out more about the letter?” 

“No. I niver dared mintion it but once, and thin she 
was so excited about it, I was sure niver to hint o’ it 
more. But I watched her whin she got all the pritty 
things you had given her together, and put them out o’ 
sight. She cried a good deal over the letthers you had 
written to her, hut whin she took up that letther—the 
had one, sir—to put with them, her face was haughty and 
proud-like, instead o’ sad, jist as you see it nowadays. 
I’m shure, sir, that ugly letther, wi’ its fine jumbled-up 
writin’, is at the bottom o’ all the throuble.” 

“ You are probably right. I am greatly obliged to you, 
Kathleen, and I will not detain you any longer.” 

“ 0 thin, if ye plaze, I hope ye’ll not be afther spakin’ 
to Miss Bertha o’ this matther.” 

“ I won’t bring you into any trouble.” 

“An’ ye will not go to Paris ?” 

“Not yet. I will first make one more effort to restore 
your mistress to happiness.” 

Kathleen courtesied her thanks, and went away look¬ 
ing as grateful as if it was her own happiness that he was 
considering. 



IN MARRIED LIFE. 


173 




CHAPTER III. 

Left alone, George pondered a long time upon the 
strange information he had received. That the letter 
was a heartless attempt to ruin his domestic happiness 
he did not doubt. But from what quarter the blow had 
been aimed he had no idea. If he had personal enemies 
they were secret ones, and in all the wide circle of hi 3 
acquaintance he could think of no person likely to act so 
dastardly a part. There was no individual upon whom 
he could fasten suspicion. 

“No one can give me the information I need but Ber¬ 
tha herself. I will question her at once. Painful as it 
will be to us both, if it should restore her lost trust in 
me, we shall not regret it. I might get the letter in her 
absence, but it would be scarcely honorable to steal it 
from her. Besides, if, as I suppose, it contains charges 
against me, I choose to meet them in her presence.” His 
brow darkened for a moment at the thought of the prob¬ 
able humiliating nature of the coming explanation, and 
his lip curled haughtily as he said aloud : 

“ Bertha, at least, should have known me better than 
to admit doubts of my honor.” 

He could not sit down quietly to await her return, but 
paced with a quick, impatient step, up and down the long 
drawing-room. It seemed as if she would never come. 
He knew that she expected him to be absent from dinner, 
for he had mentioned to her his intention of dining with 
a friend in the country, and he was querying whether 
she might not have chosen the same time to pay a social 
visit, when the sound of a carriage at the door aroused 
him, and he hurried down to receive her. He saw the 
quick flush of pleasure that his unexpected presence 
brought to her cheek. 



174 


FIRST QUARRELS 


“1 thought you were gone. It is a long ride, and you 
will he late.” 

“ It will make no difference, as I am not expected. I 
have concluded not to go.” 

She looked perplexed, for it was not usual for him to 
alter his plans. 

“ Are you ill ?” 

“No. I am perfectly well. I remained at home be¬ 
cause I have something particular to say to you.” 

He had untied her hat, and laid it with her shawl on 
the table. She looked alarmed, but took the seat he 
gave her in silence. 

“ Do not be afraid. It is nothing that need frighten 
you. Bertha”, he said, as he took a seat near her, “ I 
have been thinking this morning that I might soon be 
obliged to go abroad again—to Paris.” 

She turned very pale, but did not speak. 

“ It is for you, Bertha, to decide whether I shall go or 
stay. If my going will make you happier, do not fear 
to say so.” 

She leaned her head forward upon the table, and en¬ 
deavored to suppress all appearance of emotion. It would 
not do, her self-control was wholly lost, and the table 
shook as her tears and sobs burst forth. 

“ Bertha! ” 

She felt a light hand on her shoulder; then she was 
clasped close to the manly heart so long estranged by her 
coldness, and other tears mingled with hers. She trem¬ 
bled and tried to escape from his arms, but he held her 
firmly. 

“ Not yet, Bertha. Hear me first. We both remember 
the first happy years of our married life, and the perfect 
trust we each felt in the other. You alone know what it 



IX MARRIED LIFE. 


175 


is that has so fearfully divided us. Let me share in that 
knowledge, since it affects me equally with yourself.” 

tie w r aited in vain for an answer, but he felt the slight 
form trembling in his arms. 

“ If you refuse the confidence I ask, then I shall 
rightly interpret your wish for my absence. But 0, 
Bertha, by all our early love, let me beg for that confi¬ 
dence and trust that will secure to me the treasures I 
most value—my wife and my home.” 

She raised herself by a strong effort, and stood by his 
side, regaining at once her usual haughty composure. 

11 1 am ashamed of my weakness,” she said. “ If I 
have shunned, and do still shun an explanation with 
you, it is because I know that it is by my silence I hold 
my false position in society. And, because,” she added, 
her voice and manner again softening, “ I am still too 
foolishly weak to adopt the right and only honorable 
course, and bid you leave me forever.” 

“ I still ask the explanation. I do not understand 
you, Bertha, as your reproachful looks seem to imply 
that I should, but I am sure that there is nothing that 
can part us if love and truth remain. If these are shat¬ 
tered, let all else go. Bertha, if love has no influence, I 
ask you by your duty as a wife to tell me what it is that 
has separated us.” 

She looked at him a long time before replying. There 
was no guilty fear, no faltering in the open glance 
that met hers, but a stern dignity that awed her into 
submission. 

11 1 will do as you wish. Remain here and I will send 
what you require from my room.” 

“No, Bertha. Let me hear from your own lips the 
faults or crimes that are laid to my charge.” 



176 


FIRST QUARRELS 


She hurried out of the room, but came back directly 
with a letter in her hand. 

“ I never meant that you should have seen this while 
I lived. I received it a year and a half ago. It told me 
that I was not, and had never been your wife. I have 
never written to you or called you husband since.” 

“ Let me see it.” 

His tone was so low and quiet, that she was unprepared 
for the grieved and indignant expression of his face as 
he took the letter. He examined it curiously. It was 
rather short—not more than a page. 

“ The handwriting seems familiar, though I do not 
recollect where I have seen it. I will read it aloud, and 
see what its import is.” 

She said nothing, but stood opposite to him, watching 
him with flashing eyes, with her hands tightly clasped 
across her bosom. He read : 

“ Dearest George ,—What an age it seems since we 
met! If I did not know you to be the truest of all true 
husbands, I should be quite jealous of the business that 
keeps you so long. I can think of nothing, do nothing, 
be nothing without you. Little Georgie is so like you, 
that he only serves to remind me of the absent father 
and husband. He talks incessantly of papa. It is five 
years since he learned to call you by name, and what a 
world of prattle he has brought out of such a dry subject! 
There, doesn’t that bring the old make-believe frown to 
your face ? Georgie has learned many new things on 
purpose to surprise you. Among the rest he can repeat 
the multiplication table, which is pretty well for a boy 
of his years. Now, George, if you make fun of my 
penmanship, as you do at home, I will never write again. 
I keep all the news pickled down for you, only saying 



IN MARRIED LIFE. 177 

that we are quite well, and are planning ways and means 
to secure you a willing prisoner here. 

“ Your own 

“ Isabel.” 

George read it through twice, growing more and more 
puzzled all the time. 

“ Was it post-marked, Bertha ? Where is the en¬ 
velope ? ” 

She took it from her pocket and gave it to him. 
A sudden light broke over his countenance as he ex¬ 
amined it. 

“ Come here, Bertha.” 

She came to his side wonderingly. Pie pointed to 
the initial letter of the surname. 

“ Is not that a singular looking L ? ” 

“ 0, George,” she exclaimed, “ is that all you have 
to say to so cruel a charge? ” 

“ No, my dear wife, for my wife, my dear and lawful 
wife you are in spite of this letter. But look at this 
direction carefully. This is not an L, but there are two 
letters—C and L. It is written very carelessly, and if I 
did not know the hand, I should not have been able to 
point out the mistake you have made in opening a letter 
addressed to another person. The post-master made the 
same mistake in sending it here.” 

“Another person ! ” she repeated, in a dreamy, absent 
tone, 

“ Yes. See for yourself. The name is Clinton. It is 
the name of George Clinton, who married my wild cousin, 
Isabel Howard. You have not forgotten her, or the jokes 
we used to have in regard to her awkward penmanship. 
The 1 Georgie ’ mentioned I never saw, as they live in 
Boston, where the letter is post-marked, but I presume 



178 


FIRST QUARRELS 


he is the lawful heir of his father’s name, and of his 
mother’s wit and beauty. Nay, Bertha, dear, I shall 
not suffer this.” 

She had sunk on her knees at his feet, and buried her 
face in her hands. He raised her as he spoke, and clasped 
her again in his arms. This time, no doubt, no dark 
mistrust drove her away. 

“ I do not deserve your forgiveness, George, I shall 
never forgive myself,” she said, still holding her face on 
his shoulder. “ So miserable as I have been ! so un¬ 
happy as I have made you ! 0, George, what a foolish, 
dreadful mistake ! ” 

“ A very natural one, Bertha. We will forget it if 
possible. At any rate it shall not trouble us longer. 
My poor cousin! how little she thought, when she 
wrote so negligently, of the misery she was preparing 
for us! ” 

“ Ah ! if I had only told you, or sent the letter to 
you, as I was often tempted to do ! ” 

“ And why didn’t you.” 

He raised her head so as to see her face. It was 
radiant with smiles in spite of the regret she was ex¬ 
pressing. He repeated his question, playfully, 

“Well, why didn’t you?” 

“ I was afraid. How could I address you on such a 
subject? And I kept the letter for fear that you would 
never return if you saw it. You smile as if I were 
making poor apologies, but put yourself in my place, 
and my want of confidence will be — ” 

“Wholly inexcusable, Bertha. I shall make you 
atone for it by telling me all your thoughts for the time 
to come. I shall not entirely forgive you till I see the 
rosy cheeks, and hear the light-hearted music of the old 



IN MARRIED LIFE. 


179 


times. And if I go to Paris—” She started and looked 
up anxiously—“ I shall not run the risk of losing my re¬ 
covered treasure, but shall insist on your going with me. 
You see I am going to be a severe judge, Bertha, but 
you deserve all this, and as much more. I shall never 
be tired of punishing you. 

“ We shall be always happy,” she replied, smiling 
brightly. “ Always happy.” 

They were interrupted by Kathleen, who came to 
ascertain why the dinner-bell was unheeded. One glance 
at the happy face of her darling mistress was enough to 
dispel all her late anxieties. 

“ An’ shure, Miss Bertha, did I not tell ye that the 
coomin’ o’ the masther would make all right ? Och, it’s 
yer own beautiful self intirely that is smilin’ so swately! 
Hiven bless ye foriver, and kape ye togither too, an’ it's 
pace and contint ye’ll find, and it’s coulor and strength 
ye’ll be gettin’, Miss Bertha, dear.” 

And the warm-hearted nurse ran out of the room to 
wipe away her joyful tears, and to renew her clanging 
of the dinner-bell. 

“ For small use it would be for the vittles to spile jist 
for a matter o’ joy. Och, the happy time in store for us 
all! ”— Mrs. Gardner. 



180 


FIRST QUARRELS 


JmgtotsCisi fifflttfoisssiifltt. 


I never undertook but once to set at naugbt tbe 
autliority of my wife. You know ber way, cool, quiet, 
but as determined as ever grew. Just after we were 
married, and all was going on nice and cosy, sbe got me 
in the habit of doing all the churning. She never asked 
me to do it, you know, but then she—why it was done just 
in this way. She finished breakfast one morning, and 
slipping away from the table, she filled the churn with 
cream, and set it just where I couldn’t help seeing what 
she wanted. So I took hold regularly enough, and churned 
till the butter came. She didn’t thank me, but looked so 
nice and sweet about it that I felt fully paid. Well, when 
the next churning day came along she did the same thing, 
and I followed suit and fetched the butter. Again, and 
it was done just so, and I was regularly in for it every 
time. Not a word was said, you know, of course. Well, 
by-and-by this became rather irksome. I wanted she 
should ask me, but she never did, and I couldn’t say any 
thing about it, so on we went. At last I resolved that I 
wouldn’t churn another time unless she asked me. 

Churning day came, and when my breakfast—she 
always got nice breakfasts—when that was swallowed, 
there stood the churn. I got up, and standing a few 
minutes, just to give her a chance, put on my hat and 
walked out doors. I stopped in the yard to give her 
a chance to call me, but not a word said she, so with a 
palpitating heart I moved on. I went down town, up 



IN MARRIED LIFE. 


181 


town, and all over town, and my foot was as restless as 
Noah’s dove—I felt as if I had done a wrong—I did’nt 
exactly know how—but there was an indescribable sen¬ 
sation of guilt resting upon me all the forenoon. It 
seemed as if dinner time would never come, and as for 
going home one minute before dinner, I would as soon 
cut my ears off. So I went fretting and moping around 
till dinner time. Home I went, feeling much as a criminal 
must when the jury hold in their hands his destiny—life 
or death. I could’nt make up my mind how she would 
meet me, but some sort of a storm I expected. Will you 
believe it ? she never greeted me with a sweeter smile— 
never had a better dinner for me than on that day; but 
there was the churn just where I had left it! Not a word 
was passed. I felt cut, and every mouthful of that dinner 
seemed as if it would choke me. She did not pay any 
regard to it, however, but went on as if nothing had hap¬ 
pened. Before dinner was over I had again resolved, and 
shoving back my chair I marched up to the churn and 
went at it in the old way. Splash, drip, rattle—I kept it 
up. As if in spite, the butter was never so long coming. 
I supposed the cream, standing so long, had got warm, so 
I redoubled my efforts. Obstinate matter—the afternoon 
wore away while I was churning. I paused at last from 
real exhaustion, when she spoke for the first time : 

“ Come, Charlie, my dear, you have rattled that but¬ 
termilk quite long enough, if it is only for fun you are 
doing it.” 

I knew how it was in a flash. She had brought the 
butter in the forenoon, and left the churn standing with 
the buttermilk in for me to exercise with. I never set up 
for household matters after this. 



182 


FIRST QUARRELS 



“Where are you going, George?” asked Mrs. Wil¬ 
son, as her husband rose from the tea-table, and took 
his hat. 

“ 0, I’m going out,” was the careless response. 

“ But where ? ” asked his wife. 

“What odds does it make, Emma?” returned her 
husband. “ I shall be back at my usual time.” 

The young wife hesitated, and a quick flush overspread 
her face. She seemed to have made up her mind to 
speak plainly upon a subject which had lain uneasily 
upon her heart for some time, and she could not let the 
opportunity pass. It required an effort—but she per¬ 
severed. 

“ Let me tell you what odds it makes to me,” she said, 
in a kind but tremulous tone. “ If I can not have your 
company here at home, I should at least feel better if I 
knew where you were.” 

“ But you know that I am safe, Emma, and what more 
can you ask ? ” 

“ I do not know that you are safe, George. I know 
nothing about you when you are away.” 

“ Pooh ! pooh ! Would you have it that I am not 
capable of taking care of myself? ” 

“ You put a wrong construction upon my words, 
George. Love is always anxious when its dearest object 
is away. If I did not love you as I do, I might not be 
thus uneasy. When you are at your place of business, I 



IN MARRIED LIFE. 


183 


never feel thus, because I know I can seek and find you 
at any moment; but when you are absent during these 
long evenings, I get to wondering where you are. Then 
I begin to feel lonesome; and so one thought follows 
another, until I feel troubled and uneasy. 0, if you 
would only stay with me a portion of your evenings ! ” 

“ Aha ! I thought that was what you were aiming at,” 
said George, with a playful shake of his head. “ You 
would have me here every evening.” 

“ Well, can you wonder at it? ” returned Emma. “ I 
used to be very happy when you came to spend an even¬ 
ing with me before we were married; and I know I 
should be very happy in your society now.” 

“ Ah ! ” said George, with a smile, “ those were busi¬ 
ness meetings. We were arranging for the future.” 

“ And why not continue to do so, my husband ? I am 
sure we could be as happy now as ever. If ymi will 
remember, one of our plans was to make a home.” 

“And have n’t we got one, Emma? ” 

“Certainly, we have a place in which to live,” answered 
the wife, somewhat evasively. 

“And it is our home,” pursued George. “And,” he 
added, with a sort of confident flourish, “ home is the 
wife’s peculiar province. She has charge of it, and all 
her work is there, while the duties of the husband call 
him to other scenes.” 

“ Well, I admit, that, so far as certain duties are con¬ 
cerned,” replied Emma. “ But you must remember that 
we both need relaxation from labor; we need time for 
social and mental improvement and enjoyment; and what 
time have we for this save our evenings ? Why should 
not this be my home of an evening, as well as in the day 
time and in the night ? ” 



134 


FIRST QUARRELS 


“Well, isn’t it?” asked George. 

“ How can it be if you are not here ? What makes a 
home for children if it be not the abode of the parents ? 
What home can a husband have where there is no wife ? 
and what real home comfort can a wife enjoy where there 
is no husband ? You do not consider how lonesome I am 
all alone here during these long evenings. They are the 
very seasons when I am at leisure to enjoy your com¬ 
panionship, and when you would be at leisure to enjoy 
mine, if it is worth enjoying. They are the seasons 
when the happiest hours of home life might be passed. 
Come—will you not spend a few of your evenings 
with me ? ” 

“ You see enough of me as it is,” said the husband, 
lightly. 

“Allow me to be the best judge of that, George. You 
woulcMbe very lonesome here, all alone.” 

“ Not if it was my place of business, as it is yours,” 
returned the young man. “ You are used to staying here. 
All wives belong to home.” 

“ Just remember, my husband, that previous to our 
marriage I had pleasant society all the time. Of course 
I remained at home much of my time ; but I had a father 
and mother, and brothers and sisters there, and our 
evenings were happily spent. Finally I gave up all for 
you. I left the old home, and sought a home with my 
husband. And now have I not a right to expect some 
of your companionship ? How would you like to have 
me away every evening, while you were obliged to remain 
here alone ? ” 

“ Why, I should like it well enough.” 

“ Ah ! but you would not be willing to try it.” 

“ Yes, I would,” said George at a venture. 



IN MARKIED LIFE. 


185 


“ Will you remain here every evening next week, and 
let me spend my time among my female friends?” 

“ Certainly I will,” he replied ; “ and I assure you I 
shall not be so lonesome as you imagine.” 

With this the husband went out, and was soon among 
his friends. He was a steady, industrious man, and 
loved his wife truly; hut, like thousands of others, he 
had contracted a habit of spending his evenings abroad, 
and thought it no harm. His only practical idea of 
home seemed to be that it was a place which his wife 
took care of, and where he could eat, drink, and sleep, 
as long as he could pay for it. In short, he treated it 
as a sort of private boarding-house of which his wife 
is landlady; and if he paid all the bills, he considered 
his duty done. His wife had frequently asked him to 
stay at home with her, but she had never ventured 
on any argument before, and he had no conception of 
how much she missed him. She always seemed happy 
when he came home, and he supposed she could always 
he so. 

Monday evening came, and George Wilson remained 
true to his promise. His wife put on her bonnet and 
shawl, and he said he would remain and “ keep house.” 

“ What will you do while I am gone ? ” Emma asked. 

“ 0, I shall read and sing, and enjoy myself gene¬ 
rally.” 

“ Very well,” said Emma. “I shall be back early.” 

The wife went out, and the husband was left alone. 
He had an interesting book, and he began to read it. 
He read till eight o’clock, and then he began to yawn, 
and look frequently at the clock. The book did not 
interest him as usual. Ever and anon he would come 
to a passage which he thought would please his wife, 
16 



186 


FIRST QUARRELS 


and lie turned as tliougli lie read it aloud, but there was 
no wife to hear it. At half-past eight he arose from 
his chair, and began to pace the floor and whistle. 
Then he got his flute, and played several of his favorite 
airs. After this he got a chess board and played a game 
with an imaginary foe. Then he walked the floor, and 
whistled again. Finally the clock struck nine, and his 
wife returned. 

“ Well, George,” said she, “ I am back in good time. 
How have you enjoyed yourself.” 

“ Capitally,” returned the husband, “ I had no idea it 
was so late. I hope you have enjoyed yourself.” 

“ 0, splendidly ! ” said his wife. “ I had no idea 
how much enjoyment there is away from home. Home 
is a dull place after all—isn’t it?” 

“ Why—no—I can’t say that it is,” returned George, 
carelessly. “ In fact,” he added, “1 rather like it.” 

“I’m glad of that,” retorted Emma, “for we shall 
both enjoy ourselves now. You shall have a nice com¬ 
fortable week of it.” 

George winced at this, but he kept his countenance, 
and determined to stand it out. 

On the next evening Emma prepared to go away 
again. 

“ I shall be back in good time,” she said. 

“Where are you going?” her husband asked. 

“ 0, I can ’ t tell exactly. I may go to several 
places.” 

So George Wilson was left alone again, and he tried to 
amuse himself as before; but he found it a difficult task. 
Ever and anon he would cast his eyes upon that empty 
chair, and the thought would come, “ How pleasant it 
would be if she were here l” The clock finally struck 



IN MARRIED LIFE. 


187 


nine, and he began to listen for the steps of his wife. 
Half an hour more slipped by, and he became very ner¬ 
vous and uneasy. 

“1 declare,” he muttered to himself, after he had lis¬ 
tened for some time in vain, “ this is too bad. She ought 
not to stay out so late! ” But he happened to remember 
that he often remained away much later than that • so he 
concluded that he must make the best of it. 

At a quarter to ten, Emma came home. 

“ A little late, am I not?” she said, looking up at the 
clock. “ But I fell in with some old friends. How have 
you enjoyed yourself?” 

“ First-rate,” returned George, bravely. “ I think 
home is a capital place.” 

“ Especially when a man can have it all to himself,” 
added the wife, with a sidelong glance at her husband. 
But he made no reply. 

On the next evening Emma prepared to go out as be¬ 
fore ; but this time she kissed her husband ere she went, 
and seemed to hesitate. 

“Where do you think of going?” George asked, in 
an undertone. 

“I may drop in to see Uncle John,” replied Emma. 
tl However, you won’t be uneasy. You’ll know I’m 
safe.” 

“ Oh! certainly,” said her husband ; but when left 
again to his own reflections, he began to ponder seriously 
upon the subject thus presented for consideration. He 
could not read; he could not play, nor enjoy himself in 
any way, while her chair was empty. In short, he found 
that home had no real comfort without his wife. The 
one thing needed to make his home cheerful was not 
present. 



188 


FIRST QUARRELS 


“1 declare,” lie said to himself, “ I did not tliink it 
would be so lonesome! And can it be that she feels as 
I do, when she is here all alone? It must be so,” he 
pursued, thoughtfully. “ It is just as she says. Before 
we were married, she was very happy in her childhood’s 
home. Her parents loved her, and her brothers and 
sisters loved her, and they did all they could to make her 
comfortable.” 

After this he walked up and down the room several 
times, and then stopped again and communed with him¬ 
self. 

“ I can’t stand this,” said he. “ I should die in a week. 
If Emma were only here I think I could amuse myself 
very well. How lonesome and dreary it is! And only 
eight o’clock! I declare, I’ve a mind to walk down as 
far as Uncle John’s, and see if she is there. It would 
be a relief if I only saw her. I won’t go in. She shan’t 
know yet that I hold so faintly.” 

George Wilson took another turn across the room, 
glanced once more at the clock, and then took his hat 
and went out. He locked the door after him, and then 
bent his steps toward Uncle John’s. It was a beautiful 
moonlight night, and the air was keen and bracing. He 
was walking along with his eyes bent upon the pavement, 
when he heard a light step approaching him. He looked 
up, and—could not be mistaken—saw his wife. His 
first impulse was to avoid her, but she had recognized 
him. 

“George,” she said in surprise, “is this you?” 

“ It is,” was the response. 

“And you do not pass your evenings at home?” 

“ This is the first time I have been out, Emma, upon 
my word; and even now 1 have not been absent from the 



IN MARRIED LIFE. 


189 


house ten minutes. I merely came out to take the fresh 
air. But where are you going?” 

“I am going home, George. Will you go with me?” 

“ Certainly,” returned the husband. She took his 
arm, and they walked home in silence. 

When Emma had taken off her things she sat down in 
her chair, and looked at the clock. 

“ You have come home early to-night,” remarked 
George. 

The young wife looked up into her husband’s face, and 
with an expression half smiling and half tearful, she 
answered, “ I will confess the truth, George; I have given 
up the experiment. I managed to stand it last evening; 
but I could not bear it to-night. When I thought of 
you here all alone, I wanted to be with you. It didn’t 
seem right. I haven’t enjoyed myself at all. I have no 
home but this. 

“Say you so?” cried George, moving his chair to his 
wife’s side, and taking one of her hands. “ Then let me 
make my confession. I have not stood it a whit better. 
When I left the house this evening, I could bear it no 
longer. I found it was no home for me, while my sweet 
wife was absent. I thought I would walk down to Uncle 
John’s and see your face, if possible. I had gazed upon 
your empty chair till my heart ached.” He kissed her 
as he spoke, and then added, while she reclined her head 
upon his arm—“I have learned a very good lesson. 
Your presence here is like the bursting forth of the sun 
after a storm; and if you love me as I love you—which, 
of course, I can not doubt—my presence may afford some 
sunlight for you. At all events, our next experiment 
shall be to that effect. I will try and see how much home 
comfort we can find while we are both here to enjoy it.” 



190 


FIRST QUARRELS 


Emma was too happy to express her joy in words; hut 
she expressed it, nevertheless, and in a manner, too, not 
to be mistaken. 

The next evening was spent at home by both husband 
and wife, and it was a season of much enjoyment. In a 
short time George began to realize how much comfort 
was to be found in a quiet and peaceful home; and the 
longer he enjoyed this comfort, the more plainly did he 
see and understand the simple truth, that it takes two to 
make a happy home, and that if the wife is one party 
the husband must be the other. 



MATRIMONIAL RE ACE-OFFERING. 





















’Tis -well to woo, ’tis well to wed, 

For so the world has done 

Sinqe myrtles grew, and roses blew, 

And morning brought the sun. 

But have a care, ye young and fair, 

Be sure ye pledge with truth; 

Be certain that your love will wear 
Beyond the days of youth. 

For if ye give not heart for heart, 

As well as hand for hand, 

You’ll find you’ve played the “unwise” part, 

And “ built upon the sand.” 

* * * * * *- 

Eliza Cook. 

-c- 

“#ala a few Jatito.” 

Alas ! that so many worthy young girls are deceived 
by this species of reasoning! He only smokes a little, 
and chews a little, and drinks a little—never passes the 
bounds of sobriety ! He is rather fond of amusements; 
and what man of spirit is not? True, he is seldom at 
home, but the idea of a man sitting forever by the 

17 




194 


MATRIMONIAL 


cliimney is ridiculous. He is fond of dress, hut then he 
is so handsome! 

All these little straws, that point the way the wind 
blows, are regarded as trivial things ;—only a few faults. 
After marriage, when the smoking, the chewing, and the 
drinking become confirmed habits the mistaken wife 
sings a sadder strain. Then her children want for shoes, 
but her husband never for cigars and drink. Her own 
clothes are patched and mended; not so the broken win¬ 
dows, and her husband’s wretched habits. The few faults, 
like grains of mustard seed, have increased in size a 
hundred-fold. Hue-bills come in—the rent is unpaid, 
and friends forsake the drunkard’s family. 

Then comes the miserable expediency of moving into 
a more miserable house, destitute of all conveniencies, 
where the rain pours into the garrets, and the rats revel 
all the night; where the children get cold, grow sick, 
and die, while the broken-hearted mother sits until 
“ morning grey” to stitch her ill-paid work, turning ever 
and anon with a stifled sigh to gaze through tears upon 
the little corpse. Sometimes she starts. The fitful 
winds are drumming upon the blinds,—is it his step she 
hears! Soon she, too, is sick and dying, and indeed she 
does breathe her last, while he who once had “ only a few 
faults,” sings and shouts in drunken brawls at the pest- 
tavern or the rum-house. 

This sorrowful picture has been painted a thousand 
times and more, and its duplicates are hanging up in the 
sad chambers of many hearts. And yet the thoughtless 
girl, blinded by passion, reiterates, “ He has only a few 
faults,” and gives herself up to corruption more noisome 
than the grave, and to a fate, the horrors of which, no 
pen can portray. 




PEACE - OFFERING. 


195 


Sft&ittg & WSitt. 

A younq gentleman of fine appearance becomes ac¬ 
quainted with an amiable young lady, and hastily 
“ achieves the conquest of her heart,” and then he thinks 
he will take her to himself. 

“ Take her ! ” muses he uneasily, “ I have no place to 
take myself to! What is more, I am up to my ears in 
debt.” A new thought strikes him. Her father has 
wealth. He will take her, and risk it. He therefore 
keeps silent respecting his own affairs, else makes large 
pretences, for which there is no foundation. 

After marriage the young wife asks for a little “ pin 
money.” “Wait till I get into business,” replies the 
husband; “lama little pressed for money just now.” 

“ 0 ! I thought you were in business somewhere down 
town,” says the bride. This is an inexperienced girl’s 
idea of business—“ somewhere down town,” where bank 
notes are rolled out like hand-bills from a printing- 
press. 

Presently new troubles arise. The devoted lover turns 
out more than an indifferent husband. He begins to 
neglect her for his old habits of dissipation, and if she 
remonstrates or weeps, he bitterly accuses her of selfish¬ 
ness and ill-nature, declaring that he will seek the society 
of those more congenial and kind. A year or two fully 
develops his real character. He is reckless, thriftless, 
passionate, and is no more capable of making his wife 
happy than a brute. 

“ Woman, like ivy, is found to cling 
Too often round a worthless thing.” 



196 


MATRIMONIAL 


f§*#t §I»» after tte is Kjatfe. 

When Hymen has settled the destiny of a loving pair, 
the very best thing they can do is to secure a supply of 
that “ sovereign balm ” for all bickerings, commonly 
called Domestic Religion. Persons who have long kept 
it about their dwellings testify that it is as good a 
preventive of domestic inharmonies as it is a cure. In 
fact they generally consider it unsafe to try to keep house 
without it. This preventive and remedy has the advan¬ 
tage, too, of being exceedingly cheap, insomuch that 
“ whosoever will,” among the married, may profit by its 
blessings. 

“ It is because of their irreligiousness that so many 
homes are joyless; it is for want of that infinite depth 
of sentiment, of which Christianity is, in the human soui, 
the fountain, that marriages are so many of them vapid; 
it is because conversation is never in heaven that in so 
many houses it is so monotonous, so without soul or 
interest; and it is for want of the preservative power 
of religion that husband and wife so often find the 
warmth and delicacy of their early affection fail.”— 
W. Mountford. 

“ Dedicate your bridal home to Hod. It will have a 
character, whether you choose it or not. Give it the 
impress of religion, that its character may be pure. In¬ 
deed, you ought to have Christ at your wedding. The 
wedding-party at Cana were more indebted to him for 
the enjoyment of the occasion than to any other guest. 

* * * * * * 



PEACE -OFFERING. 


197 


<£ That prayer is attended with marked benefits to the 
family, must be admitted without accumulated proof. 
From its own nature alone we should infer that it must 
have a salutary influence upon all who engage in the 
exercise. The husband who sincerely brings his family 
to the throne of grace in observance of this rite, must be 
a better husband; and his wife, sincerely uniting with 
him, must be a better wife. If they have children and 
domestics, the influence upon them must be very bene¬ 
ficial. It must allay the heat of passion, soften the 
asperities of temper, and regulate those desires, which, 
unrestrained, introduce discord and misery into the 
household. It must sweeten the disposition, cultivate 
amiability, and beget a forgiving spirit, all of which is 
indispensable to a peaceful home. Let me reiterate, 
bridal pair, these needful counsels. Welcome Christ to 
your home. Let the gospel hallow it. Make it the 
center of hope and joy. Live for it, labor for it, plan 
for it, and often ask yourselves, Are we one ? Be happy 
with the home that you now have, and wait not for one 
you may never possess. A hovel may be a happy home 
to those who truly love each other.”— W. M. Thayer. 


fjcw to from Mag funtMM. 

Many people whose circumstances might enable them 
to enjoy even more than a common portion of domestic 
felicity, are rendered miserable from the fact that the 
houses they live in are haunted by a fiend whose name 
is Domestic Discord; and it is of that species of demons 
which, having once obtained possession, it is very hard 



198 


MATRIMONIAL 


to cast out. Therefore I shall propose the following 
means to prevent the evil, believing the truth of the 
adage that “ an ounce of prevention is worth a pound 
of cure.” 

Before giving your hand in marriage, examine criti¬ 
cally the character of the person with whom you propose 
forming this important connection, and prefer those 
qualities which will wear well , to such as are merely 
showy. A fine face, a genteel air and figure, a charming 
voice, ready elocution, quickness of wit—however attrac¬ 
tive—are poor substitutes for sound sense cultivated 
by useful education, prudence, integrity, benevolence, 
together with the residue of the train of domestic 
virtues. 

Mind the saying of the Quaker proverb : “ Let thy 
liking ripen before thou lovest; let thy love advise thee 
before thou makest choice, and let thy choice be fixed 
before thou marryest.” 

Expect not unalloyed felicity in the marriage state. 
Such an unreasonable expectation must ever prove the 
parent of disappointment. If you think your bride an 
angel, or that the man who gives you his hand in mar¬ 
riage will through life act towards you the part of a hero 
in romance, a few years, perhaps a few months or weeks, 
will show you your mistake; and the never-failing dis¬ 
appointment of such romantic expectations tends to 
produce coldness, alienation, and bitterness of mind. 
The angels “ neither marry nor are given in marriage; ” 
this kind of contract and relation is between mere mor¬ 
tals, who, at best, have some failings which must be 
overlooked or patiently borne. 

If you find some unexpected flaws in temper, or 
foibles in character, assiduously endeavor to cure them, 



PEACE-OFFERING. 


199 


not by reproaches, but by all the winning arts of pru¬ 
dence and benevolence; or, if they should prove incura¬ 
ble, bear them, as much as possible, with good humor. 
Meanwhile look steadfastly and chiefly on the bright side 
of character; and see whether the good qualities do not 
balance, or even outweigh the faulty ones. 

Ever prize the chain of domestic confidence as the 
choicest of all your household treasures; frequently 
examine every link ; if one should grow weak, strengthen 
it; should one happen to gather rust, burnish it till its 
lustre be fully restored : so will you shun that grievous 
calamity of many,—living in a haunted house. 


■ 9 - 



“ Now for life’s wave3 and blisses, 

The wedded two are one.” 

And down the shining stream, 

They launch their buoyant skiff, 

Bless’d if they may but trust hope’s dream, 
But ah! Truth echoes—“Ifl” 

If health be firm—if friends be true— 

If self be well controlled, 

If tastes be pure—if wants be few— 

And not too often told— 

If reason always rule the heart— 

If passion own its sway— 

If love—for aye—to life impart 
The zest it does to-day— 




200 


MATRIMONIAL 


If Providence, with parent care, 

Mete out the varying lot, 

While meek contentment hows to share 
The palace, or the cot— 

And 0, if Faith, sublime and clear, 

The spirit upward guide— 

Then bless’d indeed, and bless’d for e'er, 
The bride-groom and the bride ! 



Instead of seeking for tlie faults, the attention of the 
husband should be directed entirely to the good qualities 
of the wife. Let these be sought after with assiduity, 
and, if you please, magnified. I care not how blind a 
husband is to the faults of his wife, or how much he is 
disposed to multiply her excellencies—provided he does 
not approbate any evil disposition, or uphold her in any 
wrong-doing. 

And I here repeat that a young man must expect, 
when he enters the marriage state, to make a material 
change in his habits. Whoever'becomes a husband with 
the expectation of still continuing in the associations and 
customs peculiar to the unmarried, will not only cherish 
erroneous views, but will be particularly exposed to the 
crime of spreading discontent within his own dwelling.— 
Austin. 




PEACE-OFFERING. 


201 



The great error which women fall into is, they sup¬ 
pose the lover and the husband to be exactly the same 
individual, which is a palpable mistake. The husband 
may love as well as the lover, but his love will be of a 
different character. It is the want of this knowledge 
that makes many married ladies troublesome to their 
husbands, from a supposition that they are neglected if a 
man is out of their sight a few hours. They are aston¬ 
ished how he can be capable of taking any pleasure when 
absent from them, and attribute the want of that assidu¬ 
ous attention which preceded their marriage, to disgust 
or cold indifference, when the truth is, he is not less 
happy than formerly, but more calm, and, consequently, 
less rapturous in his expressions. 

The protestations of the newly-married man are, with¬ 
out doubt, sincerely intended, but he professes more 
than humanity can accomplish—yet you believe it. This 
is your first error. You are flattered into vanity, and 
self-esteem; the romance of the lover is regarded by you 
as truth, and, certainly, if you still continue the same 
means of excitement, you may experience its truth as far 
as such romance can possibly be true; but believing, 
from his assertions, that you have a most powerful 
hold upon him, you abate every means of retaining that 
hold, and then that wearisome monotony is experienced, 
which too generally characterizes the marriage state. 

The nature of man is such, that where there is no ex¬ 
citement, there he is faithless; like the bee, he is con¬ 
stant to no flower after the charm has worn off. It is 



202 


MATRIMONIAL 


your task to preserve a perpetual charm; or rather a 
variety of charms, by which your husband, always find¬ 
ing pleasures at home, will never wish to roam abroad 
for others. You must consult his taste and his partiali¬ 
ties. Whatever he may commend in another, that you 
should strive to imitate, or if that is not practicable, 
then atone for it by something else for which you have 
the capability. If he is a well-disposed, honorable man, 
these are the means he will adopt in order to insure your 
affection; but should he find all these attentions unrepaid 
by similar exertions on your part, he will abandon them 
altogether, and you will prove the truth of the vulgar 
expression, “ courtship and matrimony are different 
things.” 


KjtMaMlilt} jflf ttw 

“ What is life when wanting love? 

’Tis night without a morning.” 

It has become too unfashionable to exhibit the symp¬ 
toms of affection long after marriage. A man marries, 
and so long as the novelty of the new relation lasts, he is 
as full of bliss as the heavens are full of stars upon a 
clear night. But when he has become the husband, 
instead of the lover, he is very apt to relapse into a 
demeanor which is sure to freeze a woman’s heart, as if 
it were intended to become so much ice. He may be 
respectful and kind, but he is not loving; and if he is 
not loving, no matter what else he may be, he is hardly 
better fitted to answer the demands of a truly affectionate 



PEACE-OFFERING. 


203 


wife than a statue of marble or brass. Such a husband, 
when weighed in God’s balance will always be found 
wanting. 

A late writer says, “ An everlasting 1 my dear' on the 
part of the husband is but a sorry compensation for that 
love that makes him cheerfully toil by day, break his 
rest by night, and endure all kinds of hardships, if the 
life or health of his wife demand it. Let the deeds of 
the husband, as well as his words, carry to the heart 
of the wife a daily and hourly confirmation of the fact 
that he values her health and happiness beyond every 
thing else. 

“ But,”* asks some one, “suppose a man’s wife is not 
deserving such treatment : suppose she is petulant, 
cross-grained and cold; would you require her husband 
to love her and treat her as if she were an angel ? ” 

Most certainly. Was she not once an angel ? When 
you gave her your affection, and led her, trembling and 
blushing, to the marriage altar, and there promised “ to 
love and cherish her as long as life continued,” did she 
not seem to you as a favor from God, a being direct from 
paradise ? 

“ Well, but she has since changed ! ” 

So have you changed ; and who can tell but you were, 
the first to change, and that the change in you has had 
an influence to make her what she is. Now, perhaps, all 
she needs to make her one of the kindest, and most 
affectionate creatures in the world is that constant, that 
tender affection of which I have spoken, and to which the 
apostle alludes when he says, “ Let every one of you 
in particular so love his wife even as himself.” 


* Quinby’s “ Marriage and its Relations,” page 182. 




204 


MATRIMONIAL 



Deceive not thyself by’ over-expecting happiness in 
the married state. Look not for contentment greater 
than God will give, or a creature in this world can re¬ 
ceive, namely, to he free from all inconveniences. Re¬ 
member that moderation is the silken string running 
through the pearl-chain of all virtues.-^-Dr. Fuller. 

If you were made the recipient of all the blessings 
that you expect at the hand of Providence, it would 
doubtless prove your ruin. * * It is well that some 

of your flattering dreams are nothing more than dreams, 
that some of the anticipated sights and scenes are mere 
visions of the fancy.— Rev. W. M. Thayer. 

Too much of joy is sorrow, 

So cares must needs abound; 

The vine that bears too many flowers 
Will trail upon the ground. 

Alice Cary. 

-9- 



Always regard your wife as your equal; treat her 
with kindness, respect and attention; and never address 
her with the appearance of an air of authority, as if she 
were, as some misguided husbands appear to regard their 
wives, a mere house-keeper. 

If possible, always keep her properly supplied with 





PEACE-OFFERING. 205 


money for furnishing your table in a style proportioned 
to your means, and for the purchase of articles /of dress, 
and whatever else she may require suitable to her station 
in life. 

Cheerfully and promptly comply with all her reason¬ 
able requests; and, as far as practicable, anticipate them. 
"Whatever you accord to her wishes, let it be done 
promptly and cheerfully, so as to enhance the merit 
of the matter by the manner. 

Never be so unjust as to lose your temper toward her, 
in consequence of indifferent cookery, or irregularity in 
the hours of meals, or any other mismanagement of her 
domestics ; knowing the difficulty of making many of 
them do their duty. 

If she have prudence and good sense, consult her on 
all operations involving the risk of serious injury in case 
of failure. Many a man has been rescued from ruin 
by the wise counsels of his wife, and many a foolish 
husband has most seriously injured himself and family by 
the rejection of the advice of his wife, stupidly fearing, 
if he followed it, he would be regarded as hen-pecked. 
A husband can never consult a counsellor more deeply 
interested in his welfare than his wife, if she understands 
her position. 

If distressed, or embarrassed in your business, com¬ 
municate your situation to her with candor, that she 
may bear your difficulties in mind in her expenditures. 
Wives, sometimes believing their husbands’ circum¬ 
stances better than they really are, disburse money which 
can not be well afforded, and which, if they knew the 
real situation of their husbands’ affairs, they would shrink 
from expending. 

Never, on any account, chide or rebuke your wife in 



206 


MATRIMONIAL 


company, should she make any mistake in history, 
geography, grammar, or indeed on any other subject. 
There are, I am persuaded, many wives of such keen 
feelings and high spirit, (and such wives deserve to be 
treated with constant delicacy,) that they would rather 
receive a severe and bitter scolding in private than a 
comparatively mild rebuke in company, calculated to 
display their ignorance or folly, or to impair them in the 
opinion of others. 

Go nowhere to spend your evenings where you would 
be ashamed to have your wife see you. 

Never be so thoughtless as to torture your wives by 
detailing to them the attractions of other women, when 
you really have no other object than to ascertain if you 
are sufficiently beloved to be objects of jealousy. If you 
are anything of an observer, you can find out this in a 
much easier and safer way. 



Always endeavor to win, and gratefully reciprocate 
your husband’s kindness and attention. 

Study to gratify his inclinations in regard to food and 
cookery; in the management of the family; in your 
dress, manners, and deportment. 

In every thing reasonable comply with his wishes with 
cheerfulness ; and even, as far as possible, anticipate 
them. 

Avoid all altercations or arguments leading to ill 



PEACE - OFFERING. 


207 


humor, and more especially before company. Few things 
are more disgusting than the altercations of the married, 
when in the company of friends or strangers. There 
is one kind of conduct which is almost as revolting as 
this—but not of frequent occurrence—that is, a great 
display of fondness before company. There is a time 
and a place for all judicious things. 

Never attempt to interfere in his business, unless he 
ask your advice and counsel; and never attempt to con¬ 
trol him in the management of it. 

Never confide to gossips any of the failings or imperfec¬ 
tions of your husband, nor any of those little differences 
which occasionally arise in the married state. If you do, 
you may rest assured that, however strong the injunc¬ 
tions of secrecy on the one hand, or the pledge on the 
other, they will in a short time become the common talk 
of the neighborhood. 

Avail yourself of every opportunity to cultivate your 
mind, so that, should your husband be intelligent and 
well-informed, you may join in rational conversation 
with him and his friends. 

Think nothing beneath your attention that may 
produce even a momentary breach of harmony, or the 
slightest uneasy sensation. 

“ Think naught a trifle, though it small appear; 

Small sands the mountain, moments make the year, 

And ti’ifles life. Your care to trifles give, 

Else you may die ere you have learned to live.” 

Young. 

If your husband be in business, always, in your expen¬ 
ditures, bear in mind the various vicissitudes to which 
trade and commerce are subject; and do not expose your- 



208 


MATRIMONIAL 


self to tlie painful self-reproach, should he experience 
some great loss, of having unnecessarily expended money 
of which you and your family may afterwards be in 
extreme want. 

If you be disposed to economise, I beseech you not to 
extend your economy to the wages you pay to seam¬ 
stresses or washer-women, who are too frequently ground 
to the earth by the inadequacy of the wages they receive. 
Economise, if you will, in shawls, bonnets, and hand¬ 
kerchiefs ; but never, by exacting labor from the poor 
without adequate compensation, incur the dire anathemas 
pronounced in the Scriptures against the oppressor of 
the poor. 

Never consider that a trifle which may tend to please 
him. The greater articles of duty he will set down as 
his due, but the smaller attentions he will mark as 
favors ; and trust me, for I have experienced it, there is 
no feeling more delightful to one’s self, than that which 
is produced by turning these little things to so precious 
a use. 

Above all, let a wife beware of communicating to 
others any want of duty or tenderness she may think she 
has perceived in her husband. This untwists, at once, 
those delicate cords which preserve the unity of the mar¬ 
riage engagement; its sacredness is broken forever, if 
third parties are made witnesses of its failings, or umpires 
of its disputes. 



PEACE - OFFERING. 


209 






Should differences arise between husband and wife let 
the sacred and invariable rule be, not as it too frequently 
is, Who shall display the most spirit , and play the 
despicable character of Mr. or Mrs. Sullen most intently, 
but, who shall make the first advances. This is a cardi¬ 
nal rule, which, if religiously observed by both parties, 
can hardly fail to secure perennial happiness. There is 
scarcely a more prolific source of unhappiness in the 
married state than this so-called spirit , the legitimate 
offspring of odious pride and destitution of feeling. 

Let the husband treat his wife, and the wife her hus¬ 
band, with as much respect and attention as he would a 
strange lady, and she a strange gentleman. 

I trust much caution is scarcely necessary against flir¬ 
tations, well calculated to excite uneasiness, doubts, and 
suspicions in the heart of the husband or wife of the 
party who indulges in them, and to give occasion to the 
censorious to make sinister observations. It is, unfortu¬ 
nately, too true, that the suspicion of misconduct often 
produces full as much scandal and evil as the reality. 

It is a good rule, of reason and common sense, that we 
should not only be, but appear to be, scrupulously cor¬ 
rect in our conduct. And, be it observed that, however 
pure and innocent the purposes of the parties may be at 
the commencement, flirtation too often leads to disastrous 
results. It imperceptibly, but certainly, breaks down 
some of the guards that preserve innocence. The parties 
in these cases are not inaptly compared to the moth 
fluttering around a lighted candle, unaware of the im- 



210 


MATRIMONIAL 


pending danger. It finally burns its wings, and is tlius 
mutilated for life. “ He that lovefh tlie danger shall 
perish therein.” “ Lead us. not into temptation,” is a 
wise prayer; but while we pray not to be “ led into 
temptation,” we most assuredly ought not to lead our¬ 
selves into it. 

Avoid all reference to past differences of opinion, or 
subjects of altercation that have, at a former day, excited 
uneasiness. 

Above all things, never meanly deceive each other. 



It is a fact that men often lose their interest in their 
homes by their neglect to make, them interesting and 
pleasant. It should never be forgotten that the wife has 
her rights,—as sacred after marriage as before,—and a 
good husband’s devotion to the wife after marriage will 
concede to her quite as much attention as his gallantry 
did while a lover. If it is otherwise, he is generally at 


fault. 


Take a few examples. Before marriage, a young man 
would feel some delicacy about accepting an invitation to 
spend an evening in company where his “lady-love” had 
not been invited. After marriage is he always so par¬ 
ticular ? During the days of courtship, his gallantry 
would demand that he should make himself agreeable to 
her; after marriage it often happens that he thinks more 
of being agreeable to himself. How often it happens 
that married men, after having been away from home the 




PEACE-OFFERING. 


211 


live-long day, during which the wife has toiled at her^- 
duties, go again at evening to some place of amusement^ ? y 
and leave her to toil on alone, uncheered and unhappy ! 
IIow often do her kindest offices pass unobserved and 
unrewarded, even by a smile; while her best efforts are 
condemned by the fault-finding husband! How often itl 
happens, even when the evening is spent at home, that it 
is employed in silent reading, or in some other way that, 
does not recognize the wife’s right to share in the enjoy-' 
mcnt, even of the fireside ! 

Look, ye husbands, for a moment, and remember what 
your wife was when you took her, not from compulsion, 
but from your own choice; a choice based, probably, on 
what you then considered her superiority to all others. 
She was young—perhaps the idol of a happy home; she 
was gay and blithe as a lark, and the brothers and 
sisters at her father’s fireside cherished her as an object 
of endearment. Yet she left all to join her destiny with 
yours; to make your home happy, and do all that 
woman’s ingenuity can devise to meet your wishes, and 
to lighten the burdens which might press upon you in 
your pilgrimage. She, of course, had her expectations, 
too. She could not entertain feelings which promised so 
much, without forming some idea of reciprocation on 
your part, and she did expect you would, after your 
marriage, perform those kind offices of which you were 
so lavish in the days of betrothment. She became your 
wife ; left her own home for yours; burst asunder, as it 
were, the bands of love which had bound her to her 
father’s fireside, and sought no other boon than your 
affections ; left, it may be, the ease and delicacy of a 
home of indulgence, and now what must be her feelings 
if she gradually awakes to a consciousness that you love 



212 


MATRIMONIAL 


her less than before; that your evenings are spent 
abroad; that you come home only to satisfy the de¬ 
mands of your hunger, and to find a resting-place for 
your head when weary, or a nurse for your sick-chamber 
when diseased ! 

Why did she leave the bright hearth of her youthful 
days ? Why did you ask her to give up the enjoyments 
of her happy home? Was it simply to darn your stock¬ 
ings, mend your clothes, take care of your children, and 
watch over your sick-bed ? Was it simply to conduce to 
your own comfort? Or was there some understanding 
that- she was to be made happy in her devotion to the 
man she dared to love ? 

Nor is it a'sufficient answer that you give her a 
home; that you feed and clothe her. You do this for 
your help ; you would do so for any house-keeper. She 
is your wife, and unless you attend to her wants, and in 
some way answer the reasonable expectations you raised 
by your attentions before marriage, you need not wonder 
if she be dejected, and her heart sink into insensibility; 
but if this be so, think well who is the cause of it. 



l We repeat it, very few women make indifferent wives, 
j whose feelings have not met with some outward shock, 
I by the indifference or thoughtlessness of their husbands. 
/ It is our candid opinion that in a large majority of the 
/ instances of domestic misery, the man is the aggressor. 



PEACE-OFFERING. 


213 


flow in in ©uriag a HttgtettCg ten 

Halits. 

Ip tlie husband begins to indulge in improper habits, 
it should be the object of the wife to choose a fitting 
opportunity, when his mind is clear, his feelings calm 
and composed, and his better nature has the ascendency, 
to address him on the subject of his failings. Let her 
not commence in an angry tone, nor indulge in bitter 
accusations or harsh invectives. This course would 
defeat her purpose. It would afford him an opportunity 
and an excuse for replying in like manner; and a warfare 
of blame would commence, that could result in little less 
than the confirmation of the husband in his dangerous 
career. Instead of adopting this dangerous method, let 
her address him in her kindest and sweetest tone, and in 
a manner as little calculated to offend him as possible. 
Let her gently lead him to converse upon the subject 
of his habits; and when the way is perfectly prepared, 
she can proceed to call his attention to the unhappiness 
which his present course is calculated to bring upon 
himself and his family. Let her advert to the virtuous 
and useful habits he formerly possessed—to the bright 
hopes they once cherished of prosperity and happiness, 
and to the danger that those hopes may be forever 
blasted. Strive to awaken, if possible, his finer sensi¬ 
bilities, his honorable and humane feelings; and when 
these have been brought into activity, then appeal to 
his love, his manhood, his good sense, his desire for 
prosperity and respectability, and beseech him in kind, 



214 


MATRIMONIAL 


yet moving terms, to attempt a change in his tastes and 
habits. A conversation of this character should be pur¬ 
sued as long as she discovers that it is producing bene¬ 
ficial influences. But the moment she perceives that 
bitterness and acrimony are tincturing her own language, 
or that anger and resentment are about to arise in her 
husband, the conversation should be changed; for all 
that would afterward ensue would be injurious. Wait 
patiently until another favorable opportunity presents 
itself, when the same course should be pursued with 
equal caution and kindness. I pray the wife to believe 
me, that this is one of the safest and surest plans she can 
adopt in reforming her husband, or in preventing him 
from adopting any improper practices to which he may 
be inclined.— Austin. 


SJ» ptettiagf guitar. 


Judge Charlton, in an eloquent address before the 
Young Men’s Library Association, at Augusta, Ga., 
thus sketches the marriage scene : 

“ I have drawn for you many pictures of death; let 
me sketch for you a brief, but bright scene of beautiful 
life. It is the marriage altar. A lovely female, clothed 
in all the freshness of youth and surpassing beauty, leans 
upon the arm of him to whom she has just plighted her 
faith; to whom she has just given up herself forever. 
Look in her eyes, ye gloomy philosophers, and tell me, 
if you dare, that there is no happiness on earth. 

“ See the trusting, heroic devotion which impels her 



PEACE-OFFERING. 


215 


to leave country, and parents, for the sake of a com¬ 
parative stranger ! She has launched her frail bark upon 
a wide, and it may be, a stormy sea; she has handed 
over her happiness and doom for this world, to an¬ 
other’s keeping; but she has done it fearlessly, for love 
whispers to her that her chosen guardian and protector 
bears a manly heart. Woo to him that forgets his oath 
and his manhood ! 

“ We have all read the story of the husband who in 
a moment of hasty wrath said to her who had but a few 
months before united her fate to his, ‘If you are not 
satisfied with my conduct, go and return to your friends 
and your happiness.’ ‘ And will you give that back 
which I brought to you ? ’ asked the despairing wife. 
‘ Yes,’ he replied, ‘ all your wealth shall go back to you; 
I covet it not.’ ‘Alas!’ she answered, ‘I thought not of 
my wealth—I spoke of my devoted loves; can you give 
these back to me?’ ‘No!’ said the man, as he flung 
himself at her feet, ‘ no! I can not restore these, but I 
will do more—I will keep them unsullied and unstained; 
[ will cherish them through my life and my death; and 
never again will I forget that I have sworn to protect 
and cherish her who gave up to me all she held most 
dear.’ 

“ Did I not tell you there was poetry in a woman’s 
look—a woman’s word ? See it there ! the mild, the 
gentle reproof of love winning back from its harshness 
and rudeness the stern and unyielding temper of an 
angry man. Ah ! if creation’s fair only knew their 
strongest weapons, how many of wedlock’s fiercest battles 
would be unfought ! how much of unhappiness and 
coldness would be avoided! ” 



218 


MATRIMONIAL 



You took me, husband, when a girl, 
Unto your home and heart, 

To bear, in all your after life, 

A fond and faithful part; 

And, tell me, have I ever tried 
That duty to forego, 

Or grieved because I had no joy, 

When you were sunk in wo ? 

No—I would rather share your tears 
Than any other’s glee, 

For though you’re nothing in the world, 
You’re all the world to me;— 

You make a palace of my shed, 

Of this rough bench a throne; 

There’s sunlight for me in your smile, 
And music in your tone. 

I look upon you when you sleep— 

My eyes with tears grow dim; 

I cry: “ 0, Parent of the Poor, 

Look down from heaven on him; 
Behold him toil from day to day, 
Exhausting strength and soul; 

0, look in mercy on him, Lord, 

For thou canst make him whole 1” 

And when at last reviving sleep 
Has on my eyelids smiled, 

How oft are they forbid to close 
In slumber, by your child! 

I take the little murmurer 
That spoils my span of rest, 

And count it as a part of thee 
I lull upon my breast. 



PEACE-OFFERING. 


217 


There’s only one return I crave— 

I may not need it long— 

And it may soothe thee when I’m where 
The wretched feel no wrong; 

I ask not for a kinder tone, 

For thou wert ever kind; 

I ask not for less frugal fare— 

My fare I do not mind; 

I ask not for attire more gay; 

If such as I have got 
Suffice to make me fair to thee, 

For more I murmur not; 

But I would ask some of the hours 
That you on olubs bestow— 

Of knowledge which you prize so much, 
May I not something know ? 

Subtract from meeting among men, 
Each eve an hour for me; 

Make me companion of your soul, 

As I may safely be; 

If you will read I’ll sit and work, 

And think when you’re away; 

Less tedious I shall find the time, 

Dear husband, if you stay. 

A meet companion then I’ll be 
For your most studious hours, 

And teacher of those little ones 
You call your cottage flowers I 
And if we be not rich and great, 

We may be wise and kind, 

And as my heart can warm your heart, 
So may your mind my mind. 




218 


MATRIMONIAL 



to a IpstsiiaM. 


One of the most brilliant traits that can adorn the 
character of man, is the quality which makes him a good 
husband: and he who deserves a contrary appellation, 
proclaims, in the strongest terms, his want of religion, 
his want of feeling, and his want of understanding. He 
can not be a good man, because he violates one of the 
most sacred commands of Grod. He can not be a brave 
man, because a brave man scorns to use with tyranny the 
power with which he is invested. He can not be a feel¬ 
ing man: 0, no, a man of feeling will never draw tears 
from the eyes which look to him for comfort, or volunta¬ 
rily pain a heart that has given up so much for his sake! 
— Mrs. Derenzy. 



A common proverb makes a smoky chimney, and a 
scolding wife the worst of domestic plagues. But there 
are worse than these. A smoky chimney shows there is 
a fireside, at all events, and if the chimney smokes, it is 
the builder’s, and not the housewife’s fault, and as 
for a scolding wife, why she may possibly teach her hus¬ 
band philosophy, as Xantippe did Socrates. 

A dirty wife is far worse. A wife may scold and yet 
be clean and thrifty. But a scolding slattern is a terrible 
nuisance at home, and will very soon succeed in making 
home thoroughly intolerable for even the most pacific 
and contented dispositions. 



PEACE-OFFERING. 


2] 9 


Ill-cookcd meals is a very great souree of discomfort. 
Bad cooking is waste—waste of money and loss of com¬ 
fort. Whom God has joined in matrimony, ill-cooked 
joints of meat and ill-boiled potatoes have often put asun¬ 
der. By exercising sound economy and skill in cooking, 
wives may save very much of their husbands’ purses as well 
as tempers. Skill in the culinary department is vastly more 
important to the comfort of homes than tambour-work, 
crotchet, netting, or back-stitch, not to speak of music 
and drawing .—Eliza Cook . 


“ffis twtotly fat tug gjrastatttf! ” 


Tiie common way of many wives is to resign them¬ 
selves to too much heedlessness and slovenliness after 
marriage. “ It’s nobody but my husband,” they think ; 
“ It’s no use to care for him ! ” and with this erroneous 
idea in their minds, they utterly disregard their personal 
appearance when company is not expected. Meanwhile 
the husband sees in his walks, beautiful women, dressed 
and adorned with proper attractions, and when he returns 
home he can not help instituting comparisons between 
those whom he has met, and his own neglectful wife 
who has slouchily received him at home. Then that 
home becomes wearisome. Perhaps he may reprove his 
wife’s negligence : if she is what is termed a woman 
of spirit, a quarrel is likely to ensue; if she is sullen, 
she turns her back upon her husband, and plays with her 
lap-dog, or sits in silence contemplating the fire-tongs 
or some other interesting piece of furniture. 



220 


MATRIMONIAL 


The wife who considers the ratification of her marriage 
contract by civil authority the chief guaranty of her 
husband’s devotion, is vastly mistaken. Perennial attrac¬ 
tion is the thing. Without it, the remembrance of the 
marriage ceremony will sting like an adder. 



Ye fair, possess’d of every charm 
To captivate the will, 

Whose smiles can rage itself disarm, 
Whose frowns, almost, can kill— 

Say, will ye deign the verse to hear, 
Where flatt’ry hears no part— 

An honest verse, that flows sincere 
And candid from the heart? 

Great is your power; more firmly yet 
Mankind it might engage, 

If, as ye all can make a net, 

Ye all could make a cage. 

Each nymph a thousand hearts may take; 

For who’s to beauty blind? 

But to what end a pris’ner make, 

Unless we’ve strength to bind? 

Attend the counsel, often told, 

Too often told in vain! 

Learn that best art, the art to hold 
And lock the lover’s chain. 

Gamesters to little purpose win, 

Who lose again as fast; 

Though beauty may the charm begin, 

’Tis sweetness makes it last. 




PEACE-OFFERING. 


221 


& S«TO fw»w. * 


Would you have a happy home, a model home, my 
friend ? Then you must exert yourself to make it such. 
Let me charge you with the warmth and faithfulness 
of a brother never to go to that spot with bleak unkind¬ 
ness in your face, or on your lips. If the world has 
ill-treated you, and got you inveterately piqued at its 
maxims, I warn you to muzzle well that grumbling 
mouth before you enter that old familiar door, to join 
once more the household circle. Let your complaints 
and sour words against the world be spoken out in it 
where they belong, and never do you let them be morosely 
mouthed at the fire-side.— J. D . Bell. 


gjfl tom 

“ Will putting one’s self into a passion mend the 
matter ? ” said a venerable old man to a boy who had 
picked up a stone to throw at a dog. The dog had only 
barked at him in playfulness. 

11 Yes it will—mend the matter,” said the passionate 
boy, and immediately he dashed the stone at the dog 
with violence. The animal thus enraged sprang at the 
boy and bit his leg, while the stone bounded against a 
shop window and broke a pane of glass. Out ran the 
shop-keeper, and seizing the misguided boy. made him 



222 


MATRIMONIAL 


pay for the broken pane. The lad had mended the 
matter finely indeed ! 

Take my word for it, it never did and it never will 
mend a matter to get into a passion about it. If the 
thing be hard to bear when you are calm, it will be 
harder still when you are angry. If you have met with 
a loss, you will only increase it, and increase it sadly 
too, by being willing to lose your temper. Do set your¬ 
self against such a fault with all your heart. Try to be 
calm, especially in trifling troubles-, and when greater 
ones come, bear them bravely. 


Angry words can do no good, 

And blows are dealt in blindness; 

"Words are better understood 
If spoken but in kindness. 

Simple love far more hath wrought, 
Although by childhood utter’d, 

Than all the battles ever fought, 

Or oaths that men have utter’d. 

Friendship oft would longer last, 

And quarrels be prevented, 

If little words were let go past— 
Forgiven—not resented. 

Foolish things are frowns and sneers, 
For angry thoughts reveal them ; 

Rather drown them all in tears, 

Than let another feel them. 



PEACE-OFFERING. 


223 


SI it JoWjf jof 


Fret not thyself to do evil. —Psalm xxxvii. 8. 

Fretting is a 'sin against God. We have no more 
right to fret, than we have to swear or steal. It destroys 
affection. No one ever did—ever can—or ever will— 
love an habitual fretter. Husbands, wives, children, 
relations, or domestics have no affection for peevish 
fault-finders. 

Fretting and scolding make hypocrites. As fretters 
never receive confidence and affection, so no one likes 
to tell them anything disagreeable. Children will con¬ 
ceal as much as they can from such parents. They can 
not make up their minds to be frank and open-hearted. 
In like manner, husbands conceal from their wives, and 
wives from their husbands. A man may brave a lion, 
but he always dreads to come in contact with nettles 
and hornets. Upon the same principle every one wishes 
to shun the society of the fretter. Fretters “ dig out 
their own wretchedness as if they were digging for 
diamonds.” They would do well to remember that the 
chief secret of comfort lies in not suffering trifles to 
vex one, and in prudently cultivating a thick under¬ 
growth of small pleasures, since, in this world, very few 
great ones are let on long leases. 



224 


MATRIMONIAL 


Ste §riile (B>$MitoUA* 

Zschokke, in one of his tales, gives the following 
excellent counsel to a bride : 

“In the first solitary hour after the ceremony, take 
the bridegroom and demand a solemn vow of him, and 
give him a solemn vow in return. Promise one another 
sacredly, never , not even in jest , to wrangle with each 
other; never to handy words, or indulge in the least 
ill-liumor. Never, I say, never! Wrangling in jest, and 
putting on an air of ill-humor merely to teaze, becomes 
earnest by practice. Mark that! Next, promise each 
other, sincerely and solemnly, never to have a secret from 
each other , under whatever pretext, with whatever excuse 
it might be. When one of you has committed a fault, 
wait not an instant, but confess it freely—let it cost 
tears, but confess it. As you keep nothing secret from 
each other, so, on the contrary, preserve the privacies 
of your house and heart, from father, mother, sister, 
brother, aunt, and all the world. You two, with God’s 
help, build your own quiet world : every third or fourth 
person whom you draw into it with you will form a 
party, and stand between you two. That should never 
he. Promise this to each other. Renew it at every 
temptation. Ah ! if many a young pair had, on their 
wedding-day, known this secret, how many marriages 
would be happier than, alas ! they are ! ” 



PEACE-OFFERING. 


225 


The task of self-government is not easy. To repress 
a harsh answer, to confess a fault, and to stop—right or 
wrong—in the midst of self-defense, in gentle submis¬ 
sion, sometimes requires a struggle like life and death; 
hut these three efforts—to repress , to confess, and to 
stop —are the golden threads with which domestic happi¬ 
ness is woven. Once begin the fabric with this woof, and 
trials shall not easily break or sorrow tarnish it.— Mrs. 
Caroline Gillman. 



A something light as air—a look, 

A word unkind or wrongly taken, 

The love that tempests never shook, 

A breath, a touch like this, has shaken; 
And ruder winds will soon rush in 
To spread the breach that words begin; 
And eyes forget the gentle ray 
They wore in Hymen’s smiling day 
And voices lose the tone that shed 
A tenderness round all they said; 

Till fast declining, one by one, 

The sweetnesses of love are gone; 

And hearts so lately mingled, seem 
Like broken clouds, or like the stream 
That, smiling, left the mountain’s brow, 
As though its waters ne’er could sever, 
Yet, ere it reach the plain below, 

Breaks into floods and parts forever. 

Moore. 



226 


MATRIMONIAL 


% pint 0« t%t gwnitloa oi <$»arols. 

“I IIAYE heard,” says Mr. Henry, “of a married couple, 
who, though they were both of a hasty temper, yet lived 
comfortably together by simply observing a rule upon 
which they had mutually agreed, ‘Never to be both angry 
at the same time.’ ” And he adds, that an ingenious and 
pious father was in the habit of giving this advice to his 
children when they were married: 

“ Doth one speak fire , t’other with water come; 

Is one provoked, be t’other soft and dumb.” 


ijBgiphknutt of gfepM gniafe. 

It is surprising how warmly husbands and wives will 
sometimes dispute about almost nothing. “No matter 
w r hat the subject of controversy may be,” says Quinby, 
“ whether the color of a lady’s dress, the set of a shirt 
collar, the cookery of a dinner, the probability of a storm, 
or the difference 

‘ ’Twixt tweedle dum and tweedle dee — 

they will dispute, and talk with as much determination 
as if a great national subject were under consideration, 
wherein, not only the interests of the country, but of the 
world, were at stake; when, in truth, nothing is at stake, 
and, let the dispute be decided as it may, neither party 
has gained anything.” 




PEACE-OFFERING. 


227 


A certain writer, in speaking of tlie frivolous disputes 
in which married people sometimes indulge, says : “ I 
have known a fond couple to quarrel in the very honey¬ 
moon about cutting up a tart; I could name two, who, 
after having been married several years, fell out and 
parted about the boiling of a leg of mutton. Indeed, 
my very next neighbors have not spoken to one another 
these three days because they differed in their opinions 
as to whether the clock should stand by the window, or 
upon the chimney-piece.” 

The writer hereof is credibly informed that a first 
quarrel once originated at a certain place in this way : 
The young wife made the bed in the morning, as usual, 
and upon the husband’s retiring first at night, he accused 
the wife of having put more feathers upon her side of 
the bed than upon his; she denied the charge, he re¬ 
peated it; and before their contradictions ceased, they 
became intensely spirited. Hundreds of such silly dis¬ 
putes are known to have taken place. 

“ Two things, well considered,” says Cotton, “ would 
prevent many disputes. First, to have it well ascertained 
whether we are not disputing about terms rather than 
things; and secondly, to examine whether that on which 
we differ is worth contending about” 



228 


MATRIMONIAL 



“ Words are little mouthfuls of spoken mind; yet you can stab a life-partnef 
with a little word as with a dagger.” 

A little word in kindness spoken, 

A motion, or a tear, 

Has often healed the heart that’s broken, 

And made a friend sincere, 

A word—a look— lias crushed to earth 
Full many a budding flower, 

Which, had a smile but owned its birth, 

Would bless life’s darkest hour. 

Then deem it not an idle thing 
A pleasant word to speak; 

The face you wear, the thought you bring, 

A heart may heal or break. 




at Heart.” 

“Why so sad, Ernest?” said the young wife to her 
husband, affectionately placing her arm around his neck 
and kissing him. 

He looked up with a sad smile and replied: 

“ I am almost out of heart, Mary; I think of all pur¬ 
suits a profession is the worst. Here have I been, week 
after week, and month after month — I may soon say 
year after year—waiting for practice, yet without suc¬ 
cess. A lawyer may volunteer in a celebrated case, and 




PEACE-OFFERING. 


229 


so make himself; hut a physician must sit patiently in 
his office, and, if unknown, see men without half his 
acquirements rolling in wealth, while he, perhaps, is 
• starving. And it will soon come to that,” he added, 
bitterly, “ if I do not get employment 1 ” 

An unbidden tear started into the wife’s eye, but she 
strove to smile, and said: 

“ Do not despond, Ernest. I know you have been 
unfortunate so far, but you have talents and knowledge 
to make your way, as soon as you get a start. And, 
depend upon it,” she added, with a cheerful smile, “ that 
will come when you least expect it.” 

“ So you have told me often; but the lucky hour has 
never come,” said her husband, despondingly. 

“And now every cent of our little fortune is expended, 
and our credit will soon be gone when it is found we do 
not pay. What then is to become of us?” 

Ernest was in a mood which the most sanguine some¬ 
times experience when disappointment after disappoint¬ 
ment has crushed the spirit, and the voice of hope is no 
longer heard within. His wife would have given way to 
tears if she had been alone; but she felt the necessity 
of sustaining him, and answered cheerfully: 

“ What if every cent is gone ? Have no fear that we 
shall starve. God sent the ravens to feed Elijah, and he 
will yet interpose for our aid. Trust in Him, dearest! ” 

The husband felt rebuked, as she thus spoke, and 
answered less despondingly: 

“ Dut really, Mary, this want of success would try the 
stoutest spirit. The mechanic, the day laborer, the 
humblest farmer, is sure of his food and raiment; but I, 
after having spent years in study, have wasted years, 
besides waiting years for practice, and now, when all my 



230 


MATRIMONIAL 


fortune is gone, if I resort to other means for a liveli¬ 
hood, I lose all I have spent, both of time and money, 
and must forever abandon the idea of pursuing my pro¬ 
fession. It is too hard.” 

And he arose and walked the room with rapid strides. 

His wife sighed and remained silent. But after a 
minute or two, she arose and went to him, and fondly 
encircling him with her arms, said : 

u Bear Ernest, you must not worry yourself .so. You 
think it painful for me to endure poverty, I know; but 
woman never regards such things when she loves. A 
crust of bread, a log cabin, would be preferable to me, 
if I shared them with you, than a palace with another. 
But it will not come to this. Something within assures 
me you will yet be great and rich. Have patience for 
only a little while longer. There! there is a knock at 
the door now—it may be for you.” 

As if her words had been prophetic, the little girl, 
their only servant, appeared at this crisis, and said the 
doctor was wanted in a great hurry. With an exulting 
Smile his wife ran for his hat, and then sat down with a 
beating heart to await his return. 

It was almost the first summons the young physician 
had received, though he had resided in the village -more 
than a year. The place, too, was large and populous; 
but there were several physicians of large practice, and 
all this combined to put down their young rival. More 
than once, heretofore, Ernest would have abandoned the 
field in despair, but his young wife cheered and encour¬ 
aged him; though sometimes her own heart felt almost 
ready to give up. Mary Linwood was, indeed, that 
greatest of all earthly blessings, a good wife; she sym¬ 
pathized with her husband, economized to the utmost, and 



PEA CE - OFFERING. 231 

by her sanguine words chased despondency from his 
heart. 

Hour after hour she sat there awaiting her husband’s 
return; yet he came not. At last darkness set in, and 
she began to feel uneasy. She was about rising to go to 
the door, when she heard her husband’s foot upon the 
step, and hurrying out she met him in the hall. 

“God bless you, Mary, for an angel you are!” were 
his first words. “ If it had not been for you, I should 
have given up long ago, but now my fortune is made.” 

Filled with anxiety to hear all, yet not unmindful of 
his probable wearied condition, Mary hurried her hus¬ 
band into the little sitting-room, where the tea things 
were laid, and began to pour out the refreshing beverage 
with a trembling hand, while Ernest told the history 
of his day’s absence. 

“ I found,” said he, “ I was sent for by old Governor 
Huston — the richest and most influential man, you know, 
in the country — and when I reached his house, I learned 
to my surprise, that the Governor had been thrown from 
his carriage, and was thought to be dying. All the 
physicians in the town had been sent for, one after the 
other, but none could aid him. In despair, his wife, 
without orders, had sent for me. I saw his only chance 
for life depended upon a new and difficult operation, 
which none of the older physicians had seen performed. 
I stated that I thought it-could be done. The old 
Governor was a man of iron nerve and quick resolution; 
so when he heard the others say they could do nothing 
for him, he determined to commit himself to my hands. 
I succeeded beyond my hopes, even the other physicians 
were forced to acknowledge my skill; and there is now 
nothing but care required to make my patient as well as 



232 


MATRIMONIAL 


ever. On parting he put this roll of bank notes in my 
hand.” 

Mary was in tears before her husband finished his 
narration; but her heart went up with thankfulness to 
God for having thus interposed just at the crisis when 
hope seemed perishing. 

From that day Ernest Linwood was a made man. The 
fame of his skillful operation was in every one’s mouth, 
and by the aid of his patient — now become his patron, 
he stepped at once into practice among the best families 
of the place. Wealth, as well as reputation, flowed in 
upon him; but he always attributed his success to his 
wife, whose affection he said had cheered and sustained 
him when out of heart. 

“ There is nothing,” he would say, “ like a faithful 
wife; under God our weal and our woe for this life de¬ 
pend upon her. If she is desponding, your own sanguine 
spirit catches the infection. But if she is full of hope and 
energy, her smiles will cheer you on in the darkest hour, 
and enable you to achieve what you at first thought 
impossible. Our success in this world, as well as our 
happiness, depends chiefly on our wives. Let a man 
marry one, therefore, “ equal to either fortune,’.’ who can 
adorn his riches, or brighten his poverty; and who, 
under all circumstances, will be truly his helpmate.— 
Ellen Ashton, 



PEACE-OFFERING. 


233 


irate font Wife. 


Praise your wife, man! for pity’s sake give her a 
little encouragement. It won’t do her any harm. She 
has made your home comfortable, your hearth bright, 
your food agreeable—for pity’s sake tell her you thank 
her, if nothing more. She is not expecting it. It will 
make her eyes sparkle more delightfullj' than they have 
for these ten years; but it will do her good for all that, 
and you, too! A kind, cheerful word, spoken in a 
gloomy home, is like the rift in a cloud that lets the 
sunshine through. 

There are thousands of women to-day thirsting for 
the word of praise —the language of encouragement. 
Through summer’s heat, and winter’s toil they have 
drudged uncomplainingly, and so accustomed have their 
husbands become to their monotonous labors, that they 
look for and upon them as they do the daily rising and 
setting of the sun. 

Homely every-day life may be made beautiful by an 
appreciation of its very homeliness. You know that if 
the floor is clean, labor has been performed to make it 
so. You know that if you can take from your drawer a 
clean shirt whenever you want it, somebody’s fingers 
have ached in the toil of making it so smooth and lus¬ 
trous. Every thing that pleases the eye and the sense 
has been produced by untiring toil of body and mind. 

Men don’t come out with a hearty, “ Why, Mary, (or 
Jennie, or Lizzie, as the case may be) how pleasant you 
make things look! ” or, “ I am obliged to you, dear, for 
20 



234 


MATRIMONIAL 


taking so much pains!” As some one has fitly express¬ 
ed it, “ They don’t seem to know how to blossom out, 
but always keep in the bud ! ” They thank the tailor for 
giving them fits; they thank the man in the crowded 
omnibus for giving them a seat; in short, they thank 
everybody out of doors, because it is the custom; and 
then they come home, tip their chairs back and stick 
their heels up, pull out the newspaper, grumble if wife 
mentions a request to take the baby, scold if the fire has 
gone down, or if everything is not just right, shut their 
mouths with a self-important smack, but never say to 
her whom they once idolized, “I thank you !” 

I tell you what, young men afid old, if you did but 
show becoming civility toward those common articles of 
house-keeping—your wives; if you gave the half of the 
compliments you almost choked them with before mar¬ 
riage ; if you would stop that badinage about whom you 
are going to have for. your next wife; (such things 
wives may laugh at, but they sink deep sometimes,) if 
you would cease to speak of their faults, however ban- 
teringly, before others, few wives would seek other 
sources of happiness than your cold so-so-ish affection. 

Praise your wife then for all the good qualities she 
has, and don’t be too certain that her deficiencies are 
greater than your own. 



PEACE-OFFERING. 


235 


§v §ift to tte 


Andrew Lee came home at evening from the shop 
where he had worked all day, tired and out of spirits; 
came home to his wife, who was also tired, and out of 
spirits. 

“A smiling wife and a cheerful home—what a para¬ 
dise it would be ! ” said Andrew to himself, as he turned 
his eye from the clouded face of Mrs. Lee, and sat down 
with knitted brows and moody aspect. 

Not a word was spoken by either. Mrs. Lee was get¬ 
ting supper, and she moved about with a weary step. 

“ Come,” said she, at last, with a side glance to her 
husband. 

There was invitation in the word only; none in the 
voice of Mrs. Lee. 

Andrew rose and went to the table. He was tempted 
to speak an angry word, but controlled himself, and kept 
silence. He could find no fault with the chop, or the 
sweet home-made bread, or the fragrant tea. They 
would have cheered his inward man, if there had only 
been a gleam of sunshine on the face of his wife. He 
noticed that she did not eat. 

“Are you not well, Mary?” These words were on 
his lips, but he did not utter them, for the face of his 
wife looked so repellant that he feared an irritating reply. 
And so, in moody silence, the twain sat together until 
Andrew had finished his supper. As he pushed his 
chair back, his wife rose and commenced clearing off the 
table. 

“ This is purgatory! ” said Lee to himself, as he com- 



236 


MATRIMONIAL 


menced walking the floor of their little dining-room, 
with his hand thrust desperately down into his trowsers 
pockets, and his chin almost touching his breast. 

After removing all the dishes, and taking them into 
the kitchen, Mrs. Lee spread a green cover on the table, 
and placing a fresh trimmed lamp thereon, went out, and 
shut the door after her, leaving her husband alone with 
his unpleasant feelings. He took a long, deep breath as 
she did so; paused in his walk; stood still for some mo¬ 
ments, and then drawing a paper from his pocket, sat 
down by the table, opened the sheet, and commenced 
reading. Singularly enough, the words upon which his 
eyes rested were, “ Praise your wife.” They rather 
tended to increase the disturbance of mind from which 
he was suffering. 

“ I should like to find some occasion for praising 
mine! ” 

How quickly his thoughts expressed that ill-natured 
sentiment. But his eyes were on the page before him, 
and he read on : 

“ Praise your wife, man! for pity’s sake give her a 
little encouragement; it won’t do her any harm.” 

Andrew Lee raised his eyes from the paper, and mut¬ 
tered : “ Oh, yes; that’s all very well! Praise is cheap 

enough. But praise her for what ? For being sullen, 
and making your home the most disagreeable place in 
the world?” His eyes turned again to the paper: 

“ She has made your home comfortable, your hearth 
bright and shining, your food agreeable; for pity’s sake 
tell her you thank her, if nothing more. She is not 
expecting it. It will make her eyes sparkle more de¬ 
lightfully than they have done for these ten years; but 
it will do her good for all that, and you, too! ” 



PEACE-OFFERING. 


237 


It seemed to Andrew as if tliis paragraph was written 
just for the occasion. It was the complete answer to his 
question, “ Praise her for what?” and he felt it also as a 
rebuke. He read no farther, for thought came too busy, 
and in a new direction. Memory was convicting him of 
injustice toward his wife. She had always made his 
home as comfortable for him as hands could make it, 
and had he offered her any return of praise or commend¬ 
ation ? Had he ever told her of the satisfaction he had 
known, or the comfort experienced ? He was not able 
to recall the time or the occasion. As he thought thus, 
Mrs. Lee came in from the kitchen, and taking her 
work-basket from a closet, placed it on a table, and sit¬ 
ting down without speaking, began to sew. Mr. Lee 
glanced almost stealthily at the work in her hands, and 
saw that it was the bosom of a shirt, which she was 
stitching neatly. He knew that it was for him that she 
was at work. 

“ Praise your wife.” These words were before the eyes 
of his mind, and he could not look away from them. 
But he was not ready for this yet. He still felt moody 
and unforgiving. The expression of his wife’s face he 
interpreted to mean ill-nature ; he had no patience. His 
eyes fell upon the newspaper that lay spread out before 
him, and he read the sentence: 

“ A kind, cheerful word, spoken in a gloomy home, is 
like the rift in a cloud that lets the sunshine through.” 

Lee struggled with himself a while longer. His own 
ill-nature had to be conquered first; his moody, ac¬ 
cusing spirit had to be subdued. But he was coming 
right, and at last got right, as to will; but next came the 
question as to how he should begin. He thought of 
many things to say, yet feared to say them, lest his wile 



238 


MATRIMONIAL 


should meet his advances with a cold rebuff. At last, 
leaning toward her, and taking hold of the linen bosom 
upon which she was at work, he said, in a voice carefully 
modulated with kindness: 

“ You are doing that work very beautifully, Mary.” 

Mrs. Lee made no reply. But her husband did not 
fail to observe that she lost almost instantly that rigid 
erectness with which she had been sitting, and, also, that 
the motion of her needle had ceased. 

“My shirts are better made, and whiter than those of 
any other man in our shop,” said Lee, encouraged to go 
on. 

“ Are they?” 

Mrs. Lee’s voice was low, and had in it a slight huski¬ 
ness. She did not turn her face, but her husband saw 
that she leaned a little toward him. He had broken 
through the ice of reserve. His hand was among the 
clouds, and a few feeble rays were already struggling 
through the rift it had made. 

“Yes, Mary,” he answered, softly; “and I’ve heard it 
said more than once what a good wife Andrew Lee must 
have.” 

Mrs. Lee leaned her face towards her husband. There 
was light in it, and light in her eye. But there was 
something in the expression of the countenance that a 
little puzzled him. 

“ Bo you think so ?” she asked quite soberly. 

“What a question!” ejaculated Andrew Lee, starting 
up and going around to the side of the table where his 
wife was sitting. “ What a question, Mary !” he repeat¬ 
ed, as he stood before her. 

“Bo you?” was all she said. 

“ Yes, Mary,” was his kindly spoken answer, and he 



PEACE-OFFERING. 


239 


stooped down and kissed her. How strange that you 
should ask me such a question 1” 

“If you would only tell me so now and then, Andrew, 
it would do me good.” Mrs. Lee rose; and leaning her 
head against the manly breast of her husband, stood and 
wept. 

What a strong light broke in upon the mind of An¬ 
drew Lee! He had never given to his faithful wife even 
the smallest reward of praise for all the loving interest 
she had manifested daily, until doubt of his love entered 
her soul, and made the light around her thick darkness. 
No wonder that her face grew clouded, and that what he 
considered moodiness and ill-nature took possession of 
her spirit. 

“ You are good and true, Mary. My own dear wife. 
I am proud of you—I love you—and my first desire is 
for your happiness. 0, if I could always see your face 
in sunshine my home would be the dearest place on 
earth!” 

“ How precious to me are your words of love and 
praise, Andrew,” said Mrs. Lee, smiling up through her 
tears into his face. “With them to cheer me, my heart 
can never lie in shadow.” 

How easy had been the words for Andrew Lee! He 
had swept his hand across the cloudy horizon of his 
home, and now the bright sunshine was streaming down, 
and flooding that home with joy and beauty. 



240 


MATRIMONIAL 


©■MttpMttt iof a fpwtont’S Wife. 


The following extract is from a communication written 
by a merchant’s wife for the Merchants’ Magazine: 

“ It seems to me, at times, as if there were no more men 
left in the world; they have all become citizens. Their 
humanity seems merged into some presidency or secreta¬ 
ryship. They are good trustees, directors, cashiers, 
bankers, etc., but they are often very indifferent hus¬ 
bands and fathers. They are utterly without social chat; 
they read no pleasant books; they hate the sound of 
music; they visit nobody; they scarcely deign to look at 
the face of nature; and as for their unhappy wives, they 
must put up with cold looks and cold words. This is all 
wrong, gentlemen. It is a sad perversion of life; it is 
cruelly unjust to us and our daughters ; and it is the too 
certain source of misery to those who indulge in it. 

I bitterly feel and lament the want of that sympathy 
and communion of heart, which are so liberally promised 
us in the marriage vow.” 


Iftiol twf fPgfctljji 0f pur Wife. 

Yoijr wife, though a gentle, amiable creature, may be 
deficient in mental endowments, and destitute of fancy 
or sentiment; and you, perhaps a man of taste and talents, 
are inclined to think lightly of her. This is unjust, un¬ 
kind, and unwise. It is not, believd me, the woman most 




PEACE-OFFERING. 


241 


gifted by nature, or most stored with literary knowledge, 
that always makes the best wife; by no means : your 
gentle, amiable help-mate may contribute much more to 
your happiness, much more to the regularity, economy, 
and discipline of your house, and may be to your child¬ 
ren a much better mother than many a brilliant dame 
who could trace, with Moore, Scott, and Byron, every 
line on the map of taste and sentiment, and descant on 
the merits and demerits of poetry as if she had just 
arrived fresh from the neighborhood of Parnassus. 


g me 

Why not be polite? How much does it cost to say, 
“I thank you?” Why not practice it at home?—to 
your husband, your children, your domestics. If a 
stranger does you some little act of courtesy, how sweet 
the smiling acknowledgment! If your husband—ah ! 
it’s a matter of course ; no need of thanks. 

Should an acquaintance tread on your dress—your 
very, very best—and tear it, how profuse you are with 
your “ never minds,” “ don’t think of it,” “ I don’t care 
at all! ” If a husband happens to do so, he gets a frown; 
if a child he is chastised. Sometimes you scold your 
husband, and speak of him as though you considered 
him a very insignificant being; when at the same time 
if you were to hear a stranger uttering similar complaints 
against him, you would be exceedingly offended. Then 
21 



242 


MATRIMONIAL 


pause a little and reflect upon the course you are pur¬ 
suing. 

Ah! these are little things say you. They tell 
mightily upon the heart, let me assure you, little as 
they are. 


•€>- 


The man or woman who will run to a husband or 
wife with idle and frivolous reports^ calculated to 
awaken jealousy in regard to their companions, is en¬ 
gaged in one of the meanest and most despicable transac¬ 
tions that can receive the attention of mean mortals. It 
must be an inconceivably narrow and barren mind, a 
most wretchedly debased and vitiated taste, that can find 
satisfaction in seizing every flying rumor and hissing 
it into the ear of a wife or husband to awaken their 
jealousy. 

^ ^ 

Every husband and every wife is liable to be placed in 
circumstances which might lead to the suspicion of some 
evil, unless due explanation is given. Such explanation 
should never be withheld through pride, or obstinacy, or 
a supposition that there can be no need of it. 

Married people have a claim upon each other in this 
respect which should not be neglected. 

Although the husband, for instance, may feel conscious 
that his conduct in a given case has been perfectly 
proper, yet if he perceives that it gives uneasiness to his 
wife, from the view she takes of it, he should be both 





PEACE-OFFERING. 


243 


willing and anxious to give a full explanation of liis pro¬ 
ceedings and motives to any extent she may desire. 
And he should not refuse an explanation from any sup¬ 
position that she has no right to expect it of him. If his 
proceedings have been of such a character as to give her 
uneasiness, she has a right to an explanation, and the 
husband who is conscious of his own rectitude will not 
withhold it. The same remarks will apply in all those 
cases where the proceedings of the wife are unintelligible 
to the husband. This mutual confidence—this willing¬ 
ness to open all the secrets of the heart to each other— 
is a most powerful promoter of respect and love.— 
Austin. 




Uu.stS« at HfeaMiaw. 

It appears to be true that discords in married life are 
peculiarly apt to break out at the domestic table; and 
though I would by no means admit that wives are not 
frequently to blame for mismanagement in preparing the 
food, and in their manner of serving it to their husbands, 
yet, I believe that husbands are more frequently in the 
wrong than many are wont to believe. A man will often 
get vexed at the ill-going of his business affairs, which 
he can not control to his liking, and then come into his 
dining-room and sit down to his repast, and if every 
thing pertaining thereto is not exactly as he thinks it 
should be, he takes advantage of the least opportunity to 
give vent to some unkind remark addressed to his wife— 





244 


MATRIMONIAL 


perhaps about the victuals—perhaps about something 
having no connection whatever with the arrangement of 
the table—which probably he would never have thought 
of, had he not first become irritable away from home. 
Nearly every husband will admit that his own business 
affairs are apt to become vexatious sometimes, and he 
should remember, too, that it is the principal business of 
his wife to manage the concerns of the kitchen, the 
pantry and the table, and that vexations are liable to 
come athwart her pathway as well as his. What husband 
will say that he always has his own work finished just 
at the time, and in the manner it should be ? Perhaps he 
does the best he can. Then he expects his wife not to 
blame him, even if she should see its incompleteness and 
untimeliness. Although the food may not be quite as 
well prepared, and the table not quite as well waited 
upon as usual, probably she has done the best she could 
under the circumstances. Then the husband has no right 
to complain of her. 

Wife, try to please your husband in preparing the 
food, and arranging the table. It may be he is like 
an alligator—more susceptible at his stomach than 
elsewhere. 

Husband, do try to eat your meals in a good humor. 
Physicians tell us that it greatly enhances our ill-health 
to eat our food while we are turbulent or angry, and your 
own reason tells you that there is danger in many cases 
of enhancing the grief of a devoted, care-worn wife, which 
is much worse than all.— J. II. B. 



PEACE-OFFERING. 


245 


g* mu t* ibjj mu. 

Be gentle ! for ye little know 
How many trials rise— 

Although to thee they may he small— 
To her of giant size. 

Be gentle ! though perchance that lip 
May speak a murmuring tone : 

The heart may beat with kindness yet, 
And joy to be thine own. 

Be gentle ! weary hours of pain 
’Tis woman’s lot to bear; 

Then yield her what support thou canst, 
And all her sorrows share. 

Be gentle ! for the noblest hearts 
At times may have some grief, 

And even in a pettish word, 

May seek to find relief. 

Be gentle I none are perfect here— 
Thou'rt dearer far than life; 

Then, husband, bear and still forbear— 
Be gentle to thy wife. 



216 


MATRIMONIAL 


It is marvelous what a great difference there often is 
in the movements of a man’s purse strings during his 
courtship, and after the expiration of his honey-moon. 
In his ardor as a suitor he cheerfully buys costly presents, 
pays the expenses of numerous pleasure excursions, etc., 
and any request for money on such occasions would 
cheerfully be granted, even to the utter draining of his res¬ 
ervoir of “ ready cash ; ” but in his “absolute monarchy ” 
as a husband, he gives nothing till asked, then almost, or 
quite, “ flies into a pet,” and asks a dozen questions about 
its application, and if he gives at all, gives very sparing¬ 
ly— even grudgingly—as though he considered his wife 
an interloper, and not a partner in the firm. I have 
known some forbearing wives, whose husbands were worth 
their thousands, to actually do without a little money 
which they sometimes really needed for private use, 
rather than take the imminent risk of asking their other 
“halves” to give it to them. 

I am personally acquainted with an elderly pair, the 
husband of which is a man of considerable property, 
and is said to have plenty of gold and silver hoarded 
away; yet at the village store where they make their pur¬ 
chases, separate accounts are kept for them, and when any 
of their children are sent to buy a lot of articles for their 
parents, specific directions are given to the clerk to 
charge such and such things to “father,” and such and 
such to “ mother,” and if “ mother,” by any slavish 
economy, can manage to sell enough of butter, eggs, 
rags, soap, and the like to pay off her account, it is all 



PEACE-OFFE JR ING. 


247 


well; otherwise, the “old man” will make “a fuss in the 
family ” on the strength of the failure. 

0 what a comfort it must be to such a money-despot, 
to gaze upon his pile of specie and roll of bank bills, and 
exclaim, 

“I’m monarch of all I surrey, 

My right there is none to dispute; ” 

From my money all round every way, 

I am lord of the wifi and the brute! 

My dear sir, after marriage you had better possess a 
principle that will make you feel toward your wife as 
king Ahasuerus felt towards queen Esther. ( Esth. 5th 
chap.) You know not how many wicked Hamans it 
might aid in destroying, nor how many worthy Mordecais 
it might directly or indirectly promote. I write this arti¬ 
cle as unto reasonable husbands concerning the treatment 
of reasonable wives, who would not wish more than was 
proper for them to have. “Judge ye what I sa}\” 

J. H. B. 


fetyarf ixm a m payyiage. 

Happiness must be sought in simplicity, and not in 
costliness ; in the perpetually recurring, more than in the 
rare; in abiding peace, more than in temporary rapture. 

There are some persons who have their imaginations 
so excited by the possibility of some distant good, as to 
loose all tasteYor the little delights which husband and 
wife may devise and reciprocate almost hourly. Which 
is the luckier man, he that can be happy in the smiles of 



248 


MATKIMONIAL 


his wife, or he that must wait, wait, wait for the smiles 
of fortune, and wait in vain, perhaps? 

In this world there is nothing of so much value as af¬ 
fection ; and the most trifling expression of it, even 
though it be hut a single word of endearment, is, in the 
best ears, a pleasanter sound than that of gold pieces. 

The price of a virtuous woman, says Solomon, “ is far 
above rubies.” Were there allotted to any man a female 
figure of solid gold as a companion for life, who is there 
that would not beg that it might be of silver only, that it 
might speak; and then of a more inferior metal still, if 
it might only feel; and then, that it might be like himself, 
— of earth — might it only accompany him about, as a 
guard and a helper in life’s good undertakings. And 
yet, 0 human inconsistency! husbands are many of 
them heedless of home joys; seemingly regarding them 
as not being an increase of wealth. The real want of 
man’s heart is sympathy and love, and not the Philoso¬ 
pher’s Stone. It would not be more unreasonable to 
transplant a favorite flower out of black earth into gold 
dust, than it is for a man to let money-getting harden his 
heart into contempt, or into impatience of the little at¬ 
tentions, the merriments, and the caresses of domestic 
life.— W. Mountford. 



PEACE -OFFERING. 


249 


fpi n f£*w e«Jt citer still. 

Sad it is for hearts to sunder, 

Rent apart by passion’s thunder, 

Held apart by sullen will; 

For the sake of Him who sees us— 

Darling I for the sake of Jesus, 

Let us love each other still I 

* * * * 

Shall affections that went brooking 
Into one wide river, crooking 

Through the bloomy banks of bliss, 

Shall these heart-brooks now run single, 
Never more to meet and mingle? 

Can thy soul assent to this ? 

* * * * 

Think of yet the life before us I 
Think, if death’s dread angel, o’er us 
Hovering, first should single me, 

Think of pale death staring sadly ! 

Would thou kiss the cold lips madly? 

- Think what madness that would be 1 

Ask thy deep heart, darling I whether 
Up in Eden we together 

Shall with love immortal thrill I 
0, I see thy sad eyes brimming I 
Thou dost hear the angels hymning, 

“ Love, 0 love each other still 1 ” 

Coates- Kinney. 



250 


MATRIMONIAL 


Httfl StfhM ff5«taj)S«g }0 

§ifte»t mwto. 

It frequently happens that persons of different relig¬ 
ious views, and different Church relations, become united 
in marriage. When this is the case they are not always 
sufficiently careful to avoid all expressions calculated to 
hurt the feelings of each other respecting some peculiar 
doctrine, or form of worship; some minister, or member 
that they do not esteem alike. When a gentleman and 
lady of dissimilar Church memberships unite in wedlock, 
though the one, for the sake of harmony, may cheerfully 
join the church of the other’s choice, even then it is an 
error to suppose there is thereafter no more sympathy in 
the mind of the proselyte for the doctrines, mode of wor¬ 
ship, &c., of the nominally abandoned sect. 

Doubtless husbands are much oftener the aggressors in 
discords arising from these causes than wives. There 
are perhaps but few of us who could not call to mind one 
instance or more in which the husband belonging to one 
Church has taken a wife belonging to some other, and then 
ceased not his debates, entreaties, and, probably, his ridi¬ 
cule, until the wife joined his Church, “just to please 
him and get rid of his everlasting ding-dong,” though 
her real opinions were not changed a whit. The fact is 
a man gains but little in this way. True he gets his 
wife’s name placed beside his own on the Church-register, 
but ere this is done she loses some of her confidence in 
him as a man of reasonably liberal views, and this loss 
affects him far more than all his gain. 

When a wife, untrameled and unprovoked, prefers to 



PEACE-OFFERING. 


251 


join with her husband, it is not at all improper. Let him 
then consider that it rather increases his responsibility to 
assist her all he can in living a Christian life; but let 
him by no means indulge in disrespectful remarks about 
the denomination of which she was formerly a member, 
lest her last state be worse than her first. 

Not all the members of Church possess the charity 
that “ is not easily provoked,” and where a husband and 
wife taunt each other for exercising their religious pre¬ 
rogatives in different religious societies, there is great 
danger of producing a state of feeling antagonistic, not 
only to domestic happiness, but to religion itself. 

If individuals fear God and keep his commandments, 
which is man’s whole duty, are they not as safe in one 
Church as another? The Great Shepherd came to seek 
and to save the sheep that were lost; but men, instead 
of following the same illustrious example, are often 
found trying to entice the sheep <3ut of one fold into 
some other; and when they persecute their wives for 
belonging to Churches different from their own, it looks 
a good deal like taking measures to drive them out. 
Shame on such men! When farmers take their wheat 
to market they are not asked which road they came, or 
what kind of a vehicle they brought it in;'but if their 
wheat is alike good, where they deal fairly, they all get a 
uniform price. So in the judgment day; it will not be 
asked what branch of the Church we were members of, if 
we be God’s children.— J. H. B . 



252 


MATRIMONIAL 


Stoiwut $i $ Wife. 

First get a wife; secondly, be patient. You may 
have great trials and perplexities in your business with the 
world; but do not, therefore, carry to your home a clouded 
or contracted brow. Your wife may have many trials 
which are as hard as yours to bear. A kind, conciliating 
word, a tender look, will do wonders in chasing from her 
brow all clouds and gloom. 

You encounter your difficulties in the open air, fanned 
by heaven’s cool breezes, but your wife is often shut in 
from these healthful influences, and her health fails, and 
her spirits lose their elasticity. 0 then, bear with her! 
She has trials and sorrows to which you are a stranger, 
but which your tenderness can deprive of much of their 
anguish. Notice kindly her little attentions and efforts 
to promote your comfort. Do not take them all as a 
matter of course, and pass them by, at the same time 
being very careful to observe any omission of what you 
may consider duty to you. Do not treat her with indif¬ 
ference, if you would not sear and palsy her heart, which, 
blessed with kindness, would to the latest day of your 
existence, throb with sincere and constant affection. 

Sometimes yield your wishes to hers. She has prefer¬ 
ences as strong as yours; and it may be just as trying 
to yield her choice, as it is to you. Do you find it hard 
to yield sometimes ? Think you it is not difficult for her 
to give up always ? If you never yield to her, there is 
danger that she will think you selfish, and care only for 
yourself; and with such feelings, she can not love you 
as she might. 



PEACE - OFFERING. 


253 


Then show yourself manly, so that your wife can look 
up to you, and feel that you will act nobly, and that she 
can confide in your judgment and your candor. A late 
writer,—Rev. Wm. Hague—says, u Many touching cases 
could I recount wherein the wife has received intel¬ 
ligence of a terrible reverse in her husband’s fortunes 
without a murmur, in which the blow that smote their 
budding hopes developed the character of each in nobler 
proportions, in beauty, strength, and grandeur; but I 
could speak, too, of instances in which the heart of the 
wife was at first pained, then almost alienated or para¬ 
lyzed, by perceiving that her husband could not appre¬ 
hend her difficulties, and that he expected more of her 
than she could accomplish. 


Husband, treat your wife as an immortal being, and 
have regard to her moral and spiritual welfare. 

Can any true-hearted man give his hand to one of 
kindred soul, to be the companion of his pilgrimage 
onward to the verge of death’s dark valley, and yet have 
no thought or care as to her preparation to pass serenely 
through that place of terrors, whither she must go alone , 
so that, even amidst its chilling shadows, she may greet 
with joy the glorious destination to which heaven beckons 
her, to which her God invites her aspirations and her 
faith ? 0, no ! — Hague. 

Husband, sympathize with the wife of your bosom in 
the hour of affliction. Rejoice with her when she rejoices, 
and weep with her when she weeps. Who more than you 



254 


MATRIMONIAL 


is expected to wipe from her cheek the falling tear of 
sorrow ? 

Remember, husband, that death will soon sever the 
combined cord. When you behold her with whom you 
have toiled and wept and rejoiced, lying cold and lifeless 
in the coffin,— 

“ Think of the happiness, so deep and tender, 

That filled thy heart when wandering by her side; 
Think how her faintest smile had power to render 
Thy darkest moment one of love and pride ! 

“ And now that this frail form in death grows colder, 

A sweet calm rapture fills the parting hour, 

That thou art with her, though a sad beholder, 

A witness of the dear Redeemer’s power.” 

Will you then regret that you studied always to pro¬ 
mote her happiness ? that the law of kindness and love 
dwelt on your lips evermore ? 0, think ! and be now 
her ministering;, angrel! 

O O 


80 0 Wife timing a mm 

I said I would love thee in want or in wealth, 

Through cloud and through sunshine, in sickness in health,' 
And fear not, my love, when thy spirits are weak,— 

The troth I have plighted I never will break. 

Ay, sickness—but sickness it touches the heart 
With a feeling where how many feelings have part! 

There’s a magic in soothing the wearisome hour; 

Pity rears up the stem, and hope looks for the flower. 

* * * * * 

I have loved thee in sickness,—I’ll love thee in health, 

And if want be our portion, why, love be our wealth ; 

Thy comfort in sorrow, thy stay when most weak, 

The troth I have plighted I never will break.— C. Neal. 




fgmaylsa&u Itoadtawm. 


A Swiss journal contains tlie following: 
u A married couple, who had for years lived in a state 
of anti-conjugal harmony, determined to part, and made 
an appointment with each other to meet at a notary’s to 
sign the deed of separation. To arrive at the office of 
the man of law they had to cross a lake, and as it hap¬ 
pened, they both embarked in the same boat. On their 
passage a storm arose, and the boat was upset. The 
husband being a good swimmer, soon reached the shore 
in safety. On looking around him to see the fate of his 
fellow-passengers, he observed his wife still struggling 
for her life, but in imminent danger. A feeling of his 
early affection returned to him, and plunging again into 
the water, he swam to her, and succeeded in rescuing 
her. When she recovered her senses, and learned to 
whom she owed her life, she threw herself into his arms; 
he embraced her w T ith equal cordiality; and they vowed 
an oblivion of all their differences, and that they would 
live and die together.” 



256 


MATRIMONIAL 



Says Rev. W. M. Thayer in his “ Pastor’s Wedding 
Gift,” “I have seen the clergyman who has been asked 
by a father if he would marry his daughter without 
making her promise to love her husband; inasmuch as 
she had no special affection for hin;. She was too con¬ 
scientious to say, before God, that she loved him when 
the reverse was true; yet she could become his wife, and 
thus make herself and him miserable through life, with 
no scruples of conscience.” 


-»■ 


gm gmpruflfttt 

“ My wife tells the truth three times a day,” said a 
jocose fellow, in company, at the same time casting a 
very mischievous glance at his wife who was present. 
“ Before rising in the morning she says, ‘0 dear ! I must 
get up, but I don’t want to.’ After breakfast she adds : 
‘ Well, I suppose I must go to work, but I don’t want 
to;’ and she goes to bed saying: ‘There! I have been 
busy all day, and haven’t done any thing.’ ” 

Perhaps the husband thought this rehearsal exceed¬ 
ingly smart, but if he had known the whole truth,—for 
his wife, by hard struggling, almost concealed her real 
feelings—her kind, sensitive heart was fairly writhing 
within her on account of his careless, torturing wit¬ 
ticism. 




PEACE-OFFERING. 


257 



“My dear,” said a man who was being severely scolded 
by his termagant wife, “ please commit your remarks to 
paper, and read them to me ! ” We know not whether 
the wife complied with his request or not:—we rather 
guess she was too hasty to take the trouble ; but one 
thing we are certain of, if those husbands and wives 
who scold each other had to read their scolding sen¬ 
tences to each other from paper, they would usually 
become thoroughly ashamed of themselves before they 
were half through. 



When the executioner was sent to do his office upon 
Seneca, his wife, Paulina, announced her determination 
to die with him, notwithstanding he had once been 
banished from his country upon the charge of adultery. 
The repudiated Josephine, after the confinement of Na¬ 
poleon at Elba, wrote immediately a most affectionate 
and reverential letter to him, asking permission to share 
his exile. Many a wife has accompanied her husband 
into the court-room and remained by him, while he was 
charged with the commission of heinous crime. No 
true lover of “ fidelity till death ” can fail to pronounce 
such conduct admirable, and worthy of imitation. 




258 


MATRIMONIAL 


mu §niVlM 0 ! 9Cmm. 

While the late Rev. James B. Finley was chaplain to 
the Ohio State Prison, a letter was received by one of 
the convicts from his wife, which was afterward pub¬ 
lished in the Ladies’ Repository with prefatory remarks 
by Mr. Finley as follows: “ This convict’s habits of life, 
and states of feeling, are now entirely changed, and hav¬ 
ing sought and found mercy, he is now happy in a 
Savior’s love. His wife, is an esteemed and pious mem¬ 
ber of our Church, and notwithstanding the unfortunate 
condition of her husband, she still loves him with the 
same love that inspired her heart in her early days of 
bliss. What an instance of the deep and deathless at¬ 
tachment of woman have we here exhibited to our view, 
and how well does it prove that neither change nor adver¬ 
sity will destroy this love within the female breast! 
But to the letter itself. I give it without a verbal alter¬ 
ation, that the reader can judge properly respecting its 
nature and merits. 

u 1 My Dear W.,—I find upon reflection I have not 
been as punctual in answering your welcome letter as it 
justly merits. I hope I need not apologize for my long 
silence. I trust you know my heart too well to suppose 
it has been caused by any diminution of affection, or dis¬ 
regard for your feelings. I feel my heart united to you 
in bonds not to be weakened by time, distance or circum¬ 
stances. Your letter was a cordial to my drooping spir¬ 
its, and a balm to my poor aching heart. I rejoice to 
learn that you have found a true Friend, one that sticketh 
closer than a brother; yes, and he will, in every* trial, 



PEACE -OFFERING. 


259 


relieve you and be your God and guardian through all 
the trying conflicts of human life. Our moment of time 
will soon be ended here, and of liow little consequence is 
it whether our pathway be rough or smooth, so the 
“heaven of heavens” be ours at last! I should have 
embraced an earlier opportunity of writing, had not a 
multiplicity of cares and wants oppressed me. 

“ 1 0 ! my W., if you knew the state of my mind; it is 
such a task to write to you ! If I sit down to it tolerably 
composed, and begin to think of you, the blood flies to 
my head, and seems to scatter all my senses. What can 
I say to comfort you in your present afflictions ? But I 
think I hear you say that you are not without the conso¬ 
lations of Divine grace, and find underneath and around 
about you the everlasting arms of love and mercy. It 
is good to be passive in the hands of so divine a Father, 
and to know no will but his. 

“ ‘ My dear W., let us try to acquiesce in his righteous 
will and providence in all things; for I believe he smites 
to bless, and wounds to heal. This dispensation may be 
the means of yourself and myself singing hallelujah to¬ 
gether around his throne to all eternity. If so, why not 
kiss the chastening rod, and bow in submission to the di¬ 
vine Providence ? I wish to be wholly given up to God; 
but I acknowledge you engross too much of my mind. I 
know it ought not to be so; but thus it is, and it seems 
that I can not help it. When at my daily work, or at the 
table, or on my bed, or in the street, or in the church, or 
at my prayers, and even at the holy communion-table, 
when my mind should be fixed on Calvary, and on the 
bleeding Lamb of God, you will be in my mind. I still 
feel that my heart is true to its first love, and to my sol¬ 
emn marriage vows; but I desire to devote my heart and 



260 


MATRIMONIAL 


mind more uninterruptedly to my Master. God knows 
my heart, and he made it to love. 0, that he would shed 
it more abundantly on me, and give me that mind that 
was in his dear Son. Let us try, my dear husband, to 
live more to his honor and glory. Let us aim more than 
ev'er at higher and deeper attainments in grace. I want 
to rest wholly on my dear Savior, and to look to and trust 
in him alone, and in him daily to satiate the thirst of my 
poor soul. While I remain an inhabitant of this ever- 
changing world, I calculate to be the subject of number¬ 
less afflictions, which I would notask to be released from, 
as they have invariably proved my best friends. I have 
a measure of that love, which will overcome by patient 
endurance, and I fully believe that when it ceases to be 
necessary, I shall suffer no more. Rut in the midst of 
our sore trials and conflicts there is a union of affection 
existing between us, that may not be lessened by time, ab¬ 
sence, or distance. Let us, then, console ourselves, that 
though absent in body, we are present in spirit, partake 
of the same grace, both supplicate the same Lord, meet 
at the same mercy-seat, and perhaps, at the same time. 
0, what a stimulus have we to be faithful! My dear W., 
pray for your sincere , and deeply afflicted M., that she 
may arrive at the completion of every Christian grace. 
It appears that the Lord has in store much suffering for 
me, but I trust through grace I shall be enabled to stand 
in my lot when the building is finished, and see the top 
stone brought on with shoutings of ‘grace, grace unto 
it.’ 

“ ‘Tell me not that time can sever 
Fond affection’s golden chain— 

Tell me not that we shall never 
Live as we have lived, again. 



PEACE-OFFER TNG. 


201 


“‘Toil and care could never move me, 
Nor all of their blame or praise, 

If I knew that thou didst love me, 

As thou didst in other days. 

“ ‘Then this heart by sorrow riven, 
Trembling in its wildest rest, 

Still would wing thy name to heaven, 
Asking that thou might's! be blest. 

‘ ‘Yes, others have my W., taken, 

And all that made life dear to me, 
Trodden down — alone — forsaken —• 
I will live to pray for thee. 


11 ( M' ” 


fPife tlu fJmjjrfscttefl gri$to8». 


A POOR Irishman in New Orleans was once placed in 
prison for being too ready with his fist. His wife was 
kindly permitted by the officers in charge to visit his 
window ; and with her two children by her side, she kept 
her position till her husband’s release. She was advised 
by some who pitied her grief, to go home, when she re¬ 
plied, “ I have no home if he can not come to it! ” 



The “Toledo Advocate” in 1830 contained the fol¬ 
lowing editorial item: 

“We were much amused the other day in passing a 
prison in this town, by hearing a man who is imprisoned 
for abusing his wife, sing, through the iron grates, the 
plaintive melody, ‘Home, sweet home 1 ’ 





2G2 


MATRIMONIAL 


£®xtmwu 


The editor of this book has before him a letter re¬ 
ceived from a distinguished lawyer and statesman in 
Ohio, which contains a short sentence that speaks nobly 
for the aged man’s wedded life, Says he: “/ have never 
had a quarrel with my wife?' Doubtless there are many 
men in the world that could say this in truth; but while 
this is the case, it is probable the greater number could 
not say it. 0 it must be sweet for one who has spent 
most of his years in the enjoyment of an undisturbed 
conjugal calm, and “grown old in the bosom of domes¬ 
tic happiness,” to review his experience, and then declare 
with candor, “ I have never had a quarrel with my wife ! ” 



Irving, in one of his beautiful stories, mentions the 
case of a gentleman who was on the verge of distraction 
because all his extensive wealth had suddenly glided from 
his possession; and his wife had been so tenderly cared 
for all her life that he feared to reveal the fact to her, 
thinking it would probably crush her. But a friend ad¬ 
vised him not to rest until he had unfolded to her all his 
hapless case. Accordingly he frankly told her of their 
losses. 

“Is that all?” said she, smiling like a ministering 
angel as she was, “ I feared by your sadness it was worse. 
Let our beautiful things be taken. All this splendor, let 
it go; I care not for it. I care only for my husband’s 
love and confidence. You shall almost forget in my 



PEACE-OFFERING. 


2G3 


affection that you are in adversity. Only still love me, 
and I will aid you to bear these little reverses with cheer¬ 
fulness ! ” 

Still love her ! Why the man that would n’t love such 
a wife constantly, would n’t love heaven. 


'ft’Srat t» §0 ta 

The mode often practiced by the natives of the Pacific 
islands, when their canoes are upset at a distance from the 
shore, in order to save their lives, is this: They sustain 
themselves by joining hands across the bottom of the 
boat, changing hands when fatigue prompts it. It is said 
they can sustain themselves a long time in this way. 

This information suggests a useful lesson to husbands 
and wives. In the day of misfortune, instead of spurn¬ 
ing each other with reproaches, let them join hearts and 
hands more closely than ever over their imperiled inter¬ 
ests, and by all possible means mutually assist in the 
rescue. 


iUttfffrsUan. 

There was once a bridegroom who gloried in his ec¬ 
centricities. A day or two after his wedding, he re¬ 
quested his bride to accompany him into the garden. 
He then threw a line over the roof of their cottage, and 
giving his wife one end of the line, he retreated to the 
other side and exclaimed, “ Pull the line ! ” 

She pulled it, at his request, as far as she could. He 
cried, “ Pull it over !” 

“ I can’t,” she replied. 



264 


MATRIMONIAL 


“ But pull with all your might,” shouted the whimsical 
young husband. 

But vain were all the efforts of the bride to pull the 
line over, so long as her husband held on to the opposite 
end. But when he came round, and they both pulled at 
one end, it came over with great ease. 

“ There ! ” said he as the line fell from the roof, “ you 
see how hard and ineffectual was our labor when we pulled 
in opposition to each other; but how easy and pleasant 
it was when we pulled together ! It will be thus with us, 
my dear, through life. If we oppose each other, it will 
be hard work; if we act together, it will be pleasant to 
live. Let us always pull together! ” 



Judge O’Neal, in the Yorkville Enquirer, tells the 
following of Judge William Smith, of South Carolina : 

He had the rare blessing to win the love of one of the 
purest, mildest, and best women whose character has ever 
been present to the writer. He married Margaret Duff. 
In his worst days she never upbraided him by word, look, 
or gesture, but always met him as if he was one of the 
kindest and best of husbands. This course on her part 
humbled him, and made him weep like a child. This 
sentence, it is hoped, will be remembered, was the lan¬ 
guage of Judge Smith to the friend already named, and 
to those who knew the stern, unbending public character 
of the Judge, it will teach a lesson of how much a pa¬ 
tient woman’s love can accomplish. He was at last re¬ 
formed by an instance of her patient love and devotion, 
as he himself told it: 



PEACE-OFFERING. 


265 


“ The evening before the Return Dny of the Court of 
Common Pleas for York District, a client called with 
fifty notes to be put in suit. Mr. Smith was not in his 
office—he was on what is now fashionably called a 
‘spree,’ then a ‘frolic.’ Mrs. Smith received the notes 
and sat down in the office to the work of issuing the writs 
and processes. She spent the night at work—Mr. Smith 
‘ in riotous living.’ At daylight on his way home from 
his carousals, he saw a light in his office, and stepped in, 
and to his great surprise saw his amiable wife, who had 
just completed what ought to have been his own work, 
with her head on the table and asleep. His entry awoke 
her. She told him what she had done, and showed her 
night’s work—fifty writs and processes. This bowed the 
strong man; ‘he fell on his knees, implored her pardon, 
and then and there faithfully promised her never to drink 
another drop while he lived.’ ‘ This promise,’ says my 
friend, Colonel Williams, ‘he faithfully kept, and,’ said 
the Judge to him, ‘ from that day everything which I 
touched turned to gold.’ ‘ His entire success in life,’ says 
Colonel Williams, ‘ he set down to his faithful observ¬ 
ance of this noble promise.’ ” 

No better eulogy could be pronounced on Mrs. Smith, 
than has just been given in the words of her distinguished 
husband. The reformation of such a man as William 
Smith is a chaplet of glory which few women have been 
permitted to wear. To the people of South Carolina, 
and especially of York District, certainly no stronger ar¬ 
gument in favor of temperance, and total abstinence, need 
be given. 



26G 


MATRIMONIAL 


gv gimttiM 

There were many little occurrences which suggested 
to me, with a great consolation, how natural it is to gentle 
hearts to be considerate and delicate toward any inferi¬ 
ority. One of these particularly touched me. I hap¬ 
pened to stroll into the little church when a marriage 
was just concluded, and the young couple had to sign 
the register. 

The bridegroom, to whom the pen was handed first, 
made a rude cross for his mark; the bride who came 
next, did the same. 

Now, I had known the girl when I was last there, not 
only as the prettiest girl in the place, but as having 
distinguished herself in the school; and I could not help 
looking at her with some surprise. She came aside, and 
whispered to me, while tears of honest love and admira¬ 
tion stood in her bright eyes : 

“ He’s a dear good fellow, Miss, but can not write yet; 
he’s going to learn of me—and I wouldn’t shame him for 
the world ! ”— Anon. 


JStgftf ia a flail-ar. 

“ I am not certain ” says Rev. Mr. Fry of Ohio, “ but 
a great many expect to see old people act with such in¬ 
difference toward each other that no one would have a 
suspicion that there was any remnant of the ‘ tender 
affections ’ in their hearts. The contrary is so unusual 



PEACE-OFFERING. 


267 


that a solitary instance of it is deemed worthy of atten¬ 
tion. The following item describes such affection 

“ £ While in the cars, we noticed an incident that filled 
our hearts with pleasant thoughts. An aged couple were 
seated together, their heads both gray, and their eyes 
dim and sunken. Both, through fatigue, had fallen 
asleep; the wife leaning on the still broad-shouldered 
husband. It was a beautiful sight. Thus through a half 
century they had journeyed together—the rugged oak 
and the clinging vine. There were hallowing thoughts 
as we watched them. It would have excited no attention 
to have seen a young wife, with a future all bright with 
hopes, thus leaning on the choice of her young dreams. 
But after all the ardor of youthful affection had passed 
through the ordeal of life’s realities, then to see the aged 
wife still leaning upon her husband’s arm with so much 
confidence and trust, was a scene of touching and hal¬ 
lowing beauty.’” 


“ gv town to 

Dr. Franklin having noticed that a certain mechanic 
who worked near his office, was always happy and smil¬ 
ing, ventured to ask him for the secret of his constant 
cheerfulness. “Nosecret, doctor,” he replied, “I’ve got 
one of the best wives, and when I go to work she always 
has a kind word of encouragement for me; and when I 
go home she meets me with a smile and a kiss, and the tea 
is sure to be ready; and she has done so many little 
things through the day to please me that I can not find 
it in my heart to speak an unkind word to any body.’ ” 



268 


MATRIMONIAL 


fSttwtliM ffaritet ia tta fpfo of 
P«s. ilwIjB. 

(Author of “Sunny Side.”) 

After meditating long in silence upon the extremity 
to -which disease seemed about to bring her, she called 
her husband to her side,—her voice was calm — her 
whole manner self-possessed—every thing betokened 
the collected purpose of her soul — and as nearly as can 
now be recalled, she said, “ I do not wish you to speak 
to me of death, nor tell me of any discouraging changes 
in my state. Talk to me of God, and give me pleasant 
thoughts of heaven, but not as if you expected me to die. 
Be as hopeful as you can be, and help me to hope. You 
need not feel anxious about my religious state, nor ask 
me about it. That is not necessary. I am at rest. . . 

When the time comes for me to go, you shall know it. 
I shall not die without being able to say to you all that 
you will wish to hear. God will take care of that, and 
he will take care of me. Now , my duty ts, to live; and 
you must help me.” 


In the Knickerbocker is the following, which will 
sufficiently explain itself: 

The announcement of the death of Mr. George Bed- 
field, of New York, which reaches us in the public jour¬ 
nals, startles us all at “ Cedar Cottage,” reposing in the 
silence and quietude of the country. He loved children. 



PEACE - OFFERING. 


2C9 


Also — which always follows — for as Byron says, “The 
heart must leap kindly hack to kindness”—children 
loved him. Mr. Bedfield was a frank, generous man, 
who despised all meanness; and he loved his friends. 
We saw but little of him in later months, after we quit¬ 
ted residing uninterruptedly in town; but the last time 
we met him, he gave us a characteristically-cordial invi¬ 
tation to visit him at Brooklyn, and begged our accept¬ 
ance of a small but beautiful landscape which we had 
admired at his apartments in town. Mr. Bedfield was 
still a young man; but several years ago he lost a young 
and lovely wife — the lady alluded to in the following 
passage from our little volume, “ Knick-Knacks from 
an Editor’s Table,” which we hope to be pardoned for 
quoting here, for the enjoyment of thousands who are 
our readers now, but who were not so then: 

“ The following most touching fragment of a letter from 
a dying wife to her husband was found by him, some 
months after her death, between the leaves of a religious 
volume, which she was very fond of perusing. The let¬ 
ter, wdiich was literally dim with tear-marks, was written 
long before the husband was aware that the grasp of a 
fatal disease had fastened upon the lovely form of his wife, 
who died at the early age of nineteen: 

“ When this shall reach your eye, dear George, some 
day when you are turning over the relics of the past, I 
shall have passed away forever, and the cold white stone 
will be keeping its lonely watch over the lips you have 
so often pressed, and the sod will be growing green that 
shall hide forever from your sight the dust of one who 
has so often nestled close to your warm heart. For many 
long and sleepless nights, when all besides my thoughts 
was at rest, I have wrestled with the consciousness of ap- 



270 


MATRIMONIAL 


proaching death, till at last it has enforced itself upon 
my mind • and although to you and to others it might 
now seem but the nervous imaginings of a girl, yet, dear 
George, it is so ! Many weary hours have I passed in 
the endeavor to reconcile myself to leaving you, whom I 
love so well, and this bright world of sunshine and beau¬ 
ty ; and hard indeed it is to struggle on silently and 
alone with the sure conviction that I am about to leave 
all forever, and go down alone into the dark valley! 
‘But I know in whom I have believed,’ and leaning up¬ 
on His arm ‘I fear no evil.’ Ho not blame me for keep 
ing even all this from you. How could I subject you, 
of all others, to such sorrow as I feel at parting, when 
time will so soon make it apparent to you ? I could have 
wished to live, if only to be by your side when your time 
shall come, and pillowing your head upon my breast, 
wipe the death-damp from your brow, and usher your 
departing spirit into its Maker’s presence, embalmed in 
woman’s holiest prayer. But it is not so to be — and I 
submit. Yours is the privilege of watching, through 
long and dreary nights, for the spirit’s final flight and of 
transferring my sinking head from your breast to my 
Savior’s bosom ! And you shall share my last thought; 
the last faint pressure of the hand, and the last feeble 
kiss shall be yours; and even when flesh and heart shall 
have failed me, my eye shall rest on yours, till glazed by 
death; and our spirits shall hold one last fond commun¬ 
ion, till gently fading from my view — the last of earth 
— you shall mingle with the first bright glimpses of the 
unfading glories of that better world, where partings are 
unknown. Well do I know the spot, dear George, where 
you will lay me: often have we stood by the place, and 
as we watched the mellow sunset as it glanced in quiver- 



PEACE-OFFERING. 


271 


ing flashes through the leaves, and burnished the grassy 
mounds around us with stripes of burnished gold, each 
perhaps has thought that some day one of us would 
come alone, and whichever it might be, your name would 
be on the stone. But we loved the spot; and I know 
you’ll love it none the less when you see the same quiet 
sunlight linger and play among the grass that grows over 
your Mary’s grave. I know you’ll go often alone, when 
I am laid there, and my spirit will be with you then, 
and whisper among the waving branches, ‘ I am not lost, 
but gone before ! ’ ” 

“ They loved in life, and now in death they are not 
divided.” They sleep together in the beautiful cemetery 
near Troy, where we have stood by her grave, at sunset, 
with the weeping husband who has now rejoined her “ in 
that world where sorrow is never known, and friends are 
never parted.” 


About midnight he joined fervently in a prayer of¬ 
fered up by Dr. Granberry, a Methodist clergyman of 
our city. At the close of this, he turned a long, linger¬ 
ing gaze of wistful tenderness upon the face he loved best 
on earth, and said, in a voice clearly intelligible to all 
around, “My — dear wife, we shall meet again—when 
the fashion of this world passeth away.” From this 
hour he sank slowly but surely, and it is consolatory to 
think that his last moments were free from acute suffering: 
the bodily energies waning gently like the twilight, and 
the mind, though clear, partaking of that glorious lan- 



272 


MATRIMONIAL 


guor which had crept over the frame with which it was 
associated. 

From this time his devoted wife seemed to absorb all 
his thoughts. He was patient and thankful for the small¬ 
est attention, abounding in tender anxiety for her, follow¬ 
ing her slightest movement with his eyes, with that anx¬ 
ious, wistful, appealing look, which seemed to say, “I 
can no longer trust myself to speak.” After the power 
of speech had left him, he extended his arms, clasping 
her to his heart with a fervor which even the approach of 
death could not diminish. And so he died. On Tues¬ 
day morning, March 8th, 1859, at twenty minutes past 
nine o’clock, clasping her hand, and gazing into her eyes 
with that earnest look which even death could not alter, 
his spirit burst its bonds and rose on triumphant wings 

to find, we believe, happiness in the bosom of its God._ 

Washington Union . 




tit iwjstaato. 


The word husband comes from the Anglo-Saxon hus 
and band: the bond of the house , anciently spelt house- 
bond. The husband then is, or should be, the power or 
energy which holds the family, whether small or large, 
in its proper position, and he does not accomplish this 
desirable .work if he is a drunken, shiftless, dissipated 
wretch. Rather, he breaks the bond of union, and scat¬ 
ters the family abroad. 

A Turk or Hindoo would consider himself insulted by 
an inquiry which implied that he regarded his wife as a 
companion; that he ever consulted her on questions of 
duty, or stooped to converse with her on important 
subjects. Must an enlightened man—a Christian man, 
follow such a depraved example as this ? Nay, verily. 

The husband who is not greatly influenced by a 
prudent wife is not worthy of her. 

The first sure symptom of a mind in health, 

Is rest of heart and pleasure felt at home! 



274 


MATKIMONIAL 


Husband, don’t distribute all your smiles out in 
extraneous society. Keep at least a few of tlie warmest 
and brightest for home. 

It ill-agrees with the benign aims of the marriage 
institution for a man to have a house, yet be virtually 
of his own accord, a non-resident. 

“ A man may be homeless amid a thousand homes.” 

0 how hard when a true wife can no longer resist 
the dread conviction that to a genuine home-love her 
husband is a stranger ! 

“ Don’t stay long husband ! ” This entreaty, often 
uttered by wives, when their husbands are about leaving 
the home circle to attend to business, is one they should 
not lightly esteem. When a wife talks in this way, it 
shows that her husband’s company is duly appreciated 
at home, and that his presence there exerts a happifying 
influence, which is seriously impaired when he is away 


A WIFE TO HER HUSBAND. 

Linger not long!—home is not home without thee, 

Its dearest tokens only make me mourn; 

0 let it’s memory, like a chain about thee, 

Gently compel, and hasten thy return. 

It is one of a wife’s just claims that her husband 
abstain from everything that might induce others to 
believe that there is any other woman for whom, even 
if he were at liberty, he would have any special affection. 



PEACE-OFFERING. 


275 


Therefore take heed to your spirit, and let none 
deal treacherously against the wife of his youth.—- 

Malacld ii. 15. 

Man’s love is like the moon : if it does not grow 
greater, it is certain to grow less. The sweet moons 
of wedded life should never wane. 

A QUERY. 

Now, is not that a great idea, 

That men should take to sinning 
Because a weary, half-sick wife 
Can’t always smile so winning? 

Mrs. F. D. Gage. 


There are many husbands who would not for the 
world wound their wives with daggers, but they will 
wound them with words. 

We read in the Bible of the cherubs that had two 
faces—the face of a man and the face of a lion. There 
are objects (not cherubs) now-a-days that in this respect 
are a good deal like them. They generally try to show 
only the man’s face till after they are married, then they 
sometimes hesitate not to exhibit their lionship, even 
around their own hearth-stones, 

“ Till all the man is in the monster drowned.” 

It is much easier for the husband to choose his words 
carefully, and repress the unkindness of tone that gives 
them a double force, than it is for the wife to help feeling 
pain at their utterance. 



276 


MATRIMONIAL 


A husband is often like a cross horse,—he will bit§ 
his mate when the harness galls. 


Make everything as convenient as possible for your 
wife, and don’t allow her to walk with you barefoot 
through the thorns and fires of life, while you have heavy 
boots on. 

When a good woman is fitly mated, she grows doubly 
good; 

« How good so e’er before.’ 


It is not in the power of fate to make a true woman 
utterly miserable, while she is blessed with the love and 
confidence of a true husband. 


Here is a rather neat epigram on a pale-faced wife. 
Read it all who are toperously inclined: 

Why is it that on Emma’s cheek 
The lily blooms and not the rose? 

Because the rose has gone to seek 
A place upon her husband’s nose. 


Some political men become so absorbed in “ the wel¬ 
fare of their country,” that they forget the welfare of 
the own homes. 0, what distorted philanthropy! 

A wife’s tender expressions, heard two or three times 
a day, amount at the end of even one year, to vastly more 
and sweeter happiness than election to some high office, 
by the united suffrages of all the people of a nation. 



PEACE-OFFERING. 


277 


Be exceedingly cautious never to say or do anything 
that will tend to mortify the feelings of your wives in 
company. Here, if possible, show them more marked 
respect than when alone. 

Ladies will sooner pardon want of sense in their hus¬ 
bands than want of manners. 

Let an unselfish thoughtfulness of your wife in little, 
as well as great matters, be your peculiar characteristic. 

Husbands, reflect that though the novelty of your 
relation is perhaps worn off, yet that habit, and a thou¬ 
sand acts of kindness, have strengthened your mutual 
friendship. 

Let not many days pass without a strict self-examina- 
*4on of 7 «ur conduct as a husband. 

AN ENTREATY. 

Peal gently thou, when far away, 

’Mid stranger scenes her foot shall rove, 

Nor let thy tender care decay — 

The soul of woman lives in love 
And shouldst thou, wandering mark a tear, * 
Unconscious, from her eyelids break, 

Be pitiful, and soothe the fear 
That man’s strong heart may ne’er partake. 

Mrs. Sigourney . 



278 


MATRIMONIAL 


for ffljtae*. 

Some wives wlio bring wealth to their husbands by 
marriage ever afterward consider those husbands beneath 
them. This is extremely indiscreet. 

As a jewel of gold in a swine’s snout, so is a fair wo¬ 
man which is without discretion. — Prov. xi. 22. 

Don’t be jealous whenever your husband is away from 
you. If the Creator had intended no more mutual free¬ 
dom to married people than some appear to allow, couples 
might almost as well have been joined by nature like 
the Siamese twins. 

A woman who is disposed to be jealous, will find some¬ 
thing that she will consider suspicious in the conduct of 
the most upright of men. 

There is nothing more likely to cause an innocent 
man to become guilty than to have his wife constantly 
exhibiting jealousy rsspecting his actions, and uttering 
or insinuating suspicions against his fidelity. There is 
danger that it will bring subjects into his mind which 
have never before occupied a moment of his attention, 
and may be the means of starting him on a career to 
which he had always before been a stranger. 

Some wives evince a sort of childish jealousness of the 
newspaper, whose absorbing interest so much attracts 
their husbands. Rather let them congratulate themselves 
that their most formidable rival is one of paper. 



PEACE-OFFEEING. 


279 


It is not to the wife’s advantage to let the husband see 
how well he can do without her at home. 


Lighten the cares, and chase away the vexations to 
which men, in their commerce with the world, are una¬ 
voidably exposed, by rendering their homes agreeable to 
them. 

WIFE. BE GENTLE. 

Be gentle to thy husband, 

Remember all day long, 

Amid the din and tumult 
He battles with the throng. 

No wonder that the noble brow 
Grows clouded with the care 
That presses on his heart and hands 
While he is struggling there. 

Mrs, Enos. 


In order for a wife to have great influence over her 
husband, she must qualify herself for conversational 
communion on subjects congenial to his tastes in hours 
of retirement. 

TnERE is, perhaps, no season of the year when it is 
more highly important that the wife should strive to have 
her home present its most pleasant aspect, than during 
the long winter evenings, when men in a great variety of 
occupations have much leisure time at their disposal. 
These hours are dangerous to the habits of those hus¬ 
bands whose homes are distasteful to them. 

Talk more with thy husband, and less at him. 



280 


MATRIMONIAL 


Tie your liusbands to their homes in their leisure 
hours,--not with hempen cords, but with something less 
easily broken; namely, the influence of a gentle spirit. 

Deal mildly with thy husband, or he will perchance 
conclude, with Solomon, that it is better to dwell else¬ 
where— even “in the corner of a housetop” — than 
with a “ brawling woman, in a wide house.” 

Patrick Henry has said, “ A wife should consider 
a dispute with her husband one of the greatest calamities 
that can befall her wedded life.” 

IMPROPER LOOKS. 

Never look sad, there’s nothing so bad 
As getting familiar with sorrow; 

Treat him to-day in a cavilier way, 

And he’ll seek other quarters to-morrow. 

It is almost in vain for a man to be born fortunate, if 
he be unfortunate in his marriage. 

When a man is in trouble, it is but a little word that 
may ruin him; it is but a little word that may save him. 

Avoid with reproaches, fresh pain to bestow, 

The heart that is stricken needs never a blow. 

Never join in any laugh or sharp jest against your 
husband. He may be a plain, and even a ridiculous man: 
be it so, why did you marry him? Before marriage is 
the time to look at these things. 



FEACE - OFFERING. 


281 


She that maketh her "husband ashamed is as rotten¬ 
ness in his bones. — Prov. xii. 4. 

A wife’s faithfulness should he the tomb of her hus¬ 
band’s failings. 

If you should reprove your husband for a fault, and 
he should, therefrom, mend it, be assured you are there¬ 
by placed in a still more critical place, if you are at all 
beset with a like failing; because he will then observe 
your fault more closely, and exercise less charity for it 
after it is observed. This truth likewise deserves the at¬ 
tention of husbands, who are inclined to reprove their 
wives for their imperfections. 

The following dangerous motto is too often substan¬ 
tially adopted in the practice of wives: “ If my hus¬ 

band sees a mote in my eye, why then, I’ll clutch at the 
beam in his.” 


BE EVER GENTLE. 

And so, be ever gentle, 

Kind words and deeds from thee 
Do more toward making labor light 
Than ever thou couldst see. 

Mrs. Enos. 



282 


MATRIMONIAL 


PtoMtU fev Ml tie patrol 


Marriage is a feast, where the grace is often better 
than the repast; but it is capable of being made a long 
delightful festival. 


Wedlock is not a generous benefactress that pours 
munificent gifts into the laps of all who enter her domin¬ 
ions without regard to fidelity on their part. 

A little insect may sink a ship that has weathered 
many a fierce tempest. One “ bite ” of the forbidden 
fruit would have been sufficient to drive Adam and Eve 
from Eden, and entail misery on their posterity. So, 
unless you watch soberly, and keep Prudence constantly 
at the helm, your matrimonial voyage may terminate 
close to the receding shore, in a most unfortunate wreck 
of your conjugal faith. 

In the majority of cases where strong mutual attach¬ 
ment has been followed by coldness, indifference, or 
aversion, the change has not been brought about by the 
shock of some great event, by the blast of misfortune, 
or the persecution of enemies. These unite more firmly 
than ever the hearts that are susceptible of genuine 
affection. It is the little troubles that wear the heart 
out. 

The joys which we prepare for others are the most 
lovely of all. 



PEACE-OFFERING. 


283 


When you start across the connubial deep, don’t do 
like the Atlantic voyager—discharge your pilot when 
you have launched out a little way from shore. Keep 
him on board. This ocean is full of straits, reefs, and 
ice-bergs. Without this precaution you must inevitably 
be lost. Keep him with you till, in death, you are “safely 
moored, your perils o’er.” 

If you endeavor to please each other with as much 
study and care as you did during your courtship, there is 
little fear that your union will be unhappy. 


FIDELITY. 

Thtcre’s a bliss beyond all that the minstrel has told, 

When two that are linked in one heavenly tie, 

With heart never changing and brow never cold, 

Love on through all ills, and love on till they die I 

Moore. 

To love and labor is the sum of all living, and yet how 
many think they live who neither labor nor love. 

With some, life is love and nothing more; with 
others it is love and something more, and this is far the 
more fortunate class. 

When men and women try to get more good than 
comes from well-doing, they are sure to get less. 

The yoke of matrimony sometimes galls, and is griev¬ 
ous to be borne ; but it is often more because of the way 
it is worn, than of the yoke itself, 



284 


MATRIMONIAL 


THE FIRST GRIEF. 

For many a bitter blast may blow 
O’er life’s uncertain wave, 

And many a thorny thicket grow 
Between us and the grave : 

But darker still the spot appears 
Where thunder-clouds have burst— 
Upon our green unbliglited years, 

No grief is like the first. 

Francis Browne. 


Cherish the warmest affection for each other. Yon 
can not overlook each other’s faults, nor duly appreciate 
each other’s exccellencies without it. 

Lavish not all your love on to-day; for, remember 
that marriage has its to-morrow, likewise, and its day 
after to-morrow, too. 

When the flame of reciprocal love and reciprocal duty 
burns low and feeble on the domestic altar, it is worse 
than useless to flee to other scenes for pleasure ; for when 
home is darkened, the sun of true happiness is sunk 
below the horizon. 

Your strife against evil tempers must never cease. 
You are, as it were, afloat in a leaky ship, and must con¬ 
tinue pumping to keep from going down. 

Neither husband nor wife were intended to buffet the 
billows of life’s troubled sea. 



PEACE-OFFERING. 


285 


HOME. 

Pleasure is marked by fleetness 
To those who ever roam, 

"While grief itself has sweetness 
At home, dear home . 

Barton. 


Young husband, young wife, if all about you is now 
happiness and brightness, do not forget the story of the 
boy who, enraptured with the delightful flowers that were 
springing up around him, abandoned his allotted task, to 
wile away his hours in the midst of their fragrance. 
Attention to his duties brought those flowers into exist¬ 
ence, and when he ceased his etforts, they soon ceased 
to bloom. 

If God has joined you together, whatever the friction 
of life may be, let your bonds grow stronger. 

We should never take for our intimate friends the 
husbands or wives who live wretchedly with kind com¬ 
panions. 

A fool’s lips enter into contention. 

JProv. xviii. 6. 

If you would hear a pleasant echo, speak pleasantly 
yourself. 

A tempest in nature is said to purify the noxious air: 
not so, however, in married life. Rather it is more apt 
to be the deadly simoon . 



286 


MATRIMONIAL 


It has become a kind of by -word among many married 
people, when one says or does something that suddenly 
displeases the other, to exclaim, “You’re smart!” This 
expression is generally uttered ironically, and amounts 
to about the same as if they were to say, You’re not smart! 
To say the least of it, when spoken under such circum¬ 
stances, it always sounds ugly, and adds nothing to mu¬ 
tual love or respect. 

The brawls of the fire-side are the worst wars that are 
waged. They stab the heart in the tenderest spot. 

An old maxim says, “Alwaysspeak your mind;” but 
we can suggest a better: Speak it only when it is worth 
speaking. 

Leave your grievances like a certain emperor did his 
letters, — unopened for three weeks, and it will be aston¬ 
ishing how few of them will then require answering. 

FORGIVE AND FORGET. 

Forgive and forget! why, the world would be lonely 
The garden a wilderness left to deform, 

If the flowers remembered the chilling winds only, 

And the fields gave no verdure for fear of the storm. 

Swain. 

Troubles will come; but they come to all, and who 
shall better sustain them than those to whom mutual af¬ 
fection gives mutual support ? 

The discharge of duty to each other is not only ex¬ 
emption from the sin of omitting it; but it is also grow¬ 
ing strength, and self-knowledge. 




PEACE-OFFERING. 


287 


Where there is bitterness, there is no article that can 
be used to better advantage than honey. It is also said 
that bees and wasps will not sting a person who is im¬ 
brued with it. Neither will husbands and wives sting 
each other with their tongues if their tempers are kept 
bathed in sweetness. 

Socrates, being one day offended at his servant, said: 
“ I would beat you if I were not angry.” Let those mar¬ 
ried persons who are so unguarded as to get angry with 
each other, adopt the same rule of action, and say within 
themselves, Husband, — wife,—if I were not angry, I 
would speak harshly to you! then let them wait till they 
get in a good humor before they utter their tirade. 

This way that husbands and wives have of punishing 
each other, always comes back upon the aggressors with 
increased force. 

People are apt to think their jests like mustard, — 
good for nothing unless they bite ; therefore let husbands 
and wives be cautious how they jest with each other. 

The greatest people on earth can not commit injuries 
sooner than good people can make themselves greater by 
forgiving them. 


NONE ARE FAULTLESS. 

The kindest and the happiest pair 
Will find occasion to forbear, 

And something, every day they live, 
To pity, and perhaps, forgive. 

Cowper. 



288 


MATRIMONIAL 


A FULL heart is as difficult to carry as a full cup — 
the least thing may upset it. When you think your 
companion’s heart is full of weariness, disappointment, or 
anger, beware how you jostle it unkindly. Should you 
upset it, you might both “drink damage ” thereby. 

Let there be no frigid zone to your wedded existence. 
A man’s or woman’s home should be the polar centre of 
his or her life; yet let it be surrounded by a “frostless 
polar sea.” 

Pride has an ample wardrobe; but it has no garment 
•with which to hide the tints of sorrow, or cover the tra¬ 
ces of disappointment in the youthful face. 

The door-way to many married person’s souls is hidden 
from superficial view by a heavy drapery of selfishness, 
and festooned by many a cob-web of moroseness and ex¬ 
action. 

Selfish affections will make to themselves thoughts, 
and thoughts will produce actions, and these actions will 
be evil, and their effect upon yourselves will be painful. 

A husband and wife should infinitely avoid a curious 
distinction between “ mine ” and “ thine ; ” for such a 
principle as this has caused all the laws, and all the suits, 
and all the wars in the world. Let those who have but 
one person, have also but one interest. Nevertheless, 
they frequently look at their interests in this light: 
“ What is mine, ia all mine; and what is yours I go 
halves in1” fir ( 



PEACE - OFFERING. 


289 


GENTLE WORDS, LOVING SMILES. 

It is not much the -world can give, 

With all its subtle art, 

And gold and gems are not the things 
To satisfy the heart; 

But 0, if those who cluster round 
The altar and the hearth 
Have gentle words and loving smiles, 

How beautiful is earth I 

Forgive quickly and you will be more like tlie Savior 
than those who never forgive. 

Wiiat reason, what propriety is there in creating 
bard feelings and making one another unhappy, simply 
because you can not think alike upon every subject? 
There is quite as much reason for becoming angry and 
miserable because you do not look, or speak, or dress 
alike. 

Have you ever reflected that it is in the power of 
either of you to make the other miserable ? 

Excitability is the worst enemy of conjugal happi¬ 
ness. Therefore lay by a good store of patience, but be 
sure to put it where you can find it. 

Pitiably-unfounded jealousies destroy a great 
amount of domestic felicity; and, believe me, ye married, 
the devil would just as soon sow the seed that will pro¬ 
duce such jealousies, as anything else. Never think of 
being hastily jealous of each other. It is exceedingly 
foolish. 

25 




290 


MATRIMONIAL 


To convince , without irritating, is one of the most diffi¬ 
cult, as well as most desirable points of conjugal argu¬ 
ment. Be willing to lose the argument, rather than the 
temper. Sow no seeds for future repentance. 

BE NOT HASTY. 

Do not form opinions blindly, 

Hastiness to trouble tends; 

Those of whom we think unkindly, 

Often are our truest friends. 

A husband or wife may not always he particular to 
know all about the affairs of the other, but if the one 
happens to discover an attempt to conceal anything from 
their mutual knowledge, it excites suspicion in the discov¬ 
erer at once. The one may have a private drawer, and the 
other cdre nothing about opening it until it is known 
that a key has been turned upon it, then curiosity will 
stand erect. 

There are two periods in married life that are apt, 
even with the indifferent, to overflow with manifestations 
of affection and tenderness, viz., the honey-moon, and the 
day of death and burial. 

DECEITFUL EVIDENCES. 

There’s many a wife, and husband too, 

Each on the other’s burial day, 

W ill volley sobbings out aloud, 

And fairly grieve the life away; 

But often has the mournful voice, 

In peevish aud revengeful tone, 

Dealt cruel words that bled the heart 
Of the then weeping — now wept—one. 



PEACE-OFFERING. 


291 


If only tie Alpha and the Omega periods of wedded 
life reveal intense mutual fondness, there is danger that 
twenty-two others of much longer duration have been 
grossly misimproved. 

To follow a companion to the grave, while the soul is 
oppressed with the consciousness of having wronged him 
or her, must be an experience more bitter than the be¬ 
reavement itself. 

Happiness, like day, consists not in partial flashes, but 
in steady light. 

Happiness in married life can be made of cheap ma¬ 
terials as well as dear ones. 

Happiness is like manna; it is to be gathered in 
grains, and enjoyed every day, it will not keep long; it 
can-not be accumulated to-day for our use next week; 
nor have we to go into remote places to gather it, since 
it is rained down at our very doors, or, rather, inside of 
them. 


TRY TO BE HAPPY. 


0 try to be happy! it is not for long 

We shall cheer on each other by counsel or song; 

If we make the best use of our time that we may, 
There is much we can do to enliven the way: 

Let us only in earnestness each do our best 
Before God and our conscience and trust for the rest, 
Still taking this truth, both in word and in deed, 
That who tries to be happy is sure to succeed. 


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STATIONERS, PUBLISHERS, PRINTERS, 
BINDERS AND BLANK BOOK 
MANUFACTURERS. 


MAIM STRESET, 

(below second) 


CINCINNATI. 





APPLEGATE & CO.’s PUBLICATIONS. 


Dr. Adam Clarke’s Commentary 

On the Old and New Testaments. 

With portrait of the Author eugraved expressly for thi3 edition accompanied 

with Maps, etc. Supei^royal 8vo. sheep, spring back, marbled edge. 

The Commentary of Dr. Clarke is most deservedly popular, being not 
only a truly scientific and elaborately learned work, but it is also well 
adapted to family reading. Liberal in his vie\v*s, benevolent in his character 
Christian in his deportment, and deeply learned in Scripture lore, and all the 
science of the ancients as well as moderns, Dr. Clarke produced a work every 
way adapted to the wants of Bible students, preachers and families. This 
work, although the largest published west of the mountains, is yet afforded 
at a price within the reach of all. 

“ It would be difficult to find any contribution to Sacred Literature that 
has attained to a higher rank than the Commentaries of Dr. Adam Clarke. 
It is a treasury of knowledge, in the accumulation of which the author seems 
to have had no purpose in view but the apprehension of truth ; not to sus¬ 
tain a particular creed, but the apprehension of truth for truth’s own sake, 
restrained in the noble pursuits of no party tenets by no ardor for favorite 
dogmas .”—Nashville and Louisville Christian Advocate. 

“ Of the merits of this work we need not speak, as its fame is as wide as 
the world of language in which it is written, and as imperishable as the name 
of its author ; but of this edition we may say a word : It consists of four 
super-royal octavo volumes, two of the Old and two of the New Testament. 
The type is clear, printed upon a beautiful white paper, of superior texture, 
bound in a strong and substantial manner, with marbled edges. The first 
volume of the Old Testament contains a superior steel engraving of the au¬ 
thor. The last volume contains the usual copious alphabetical index, while 
the entire work is embellished with the usual number of tables and maps. 
Upon the whole, this is an excellent and cheap edition of this great work of 
this great man.” 

“ Much has been written in elucidation of its doctrines and precepts, by 
thousands of able authors, but there are none who have produced more sim¬ 
ple and heart-touching expositions of the ‘ Book Divine,’ or who have em¬ 
ployed a greater fund of philological and biblical knowledge in the work 
than Dr. Adam Clarke .”—Christian Advocate . 

“This is a splendid super-royal edition of the commentary on the New 
Testament by that erudite and critical scholar. Dr. Adam Clarke. However 
persons may differ with Clarke in regard to his peculiar theological views, no 
one, we are assured, who is competent to form a judgment of his biblical and 
philological labors, will call in question his competency for the task he has 
performed, and we hesitate not to say that for laborious research no work of 
the kind has ever appeared, or perhaps ever will appear, exhibiting a more 
profound and extensive acquaintance with the whole range of Biblical litera¬ 
ture. So theological student should be without this invaluable work. Henry 
and Scott, South, Doddridge and others, have furnished valuable practical 
-ommentaries, abounding with copious and luminous observations, but they 
are not expositions, such as the Bible student wants, and Clarke’s Com¬ 
mentary stands unrivaled in this respect .”—Literary Casket. 










APPLEGATE & CO.’s PUBLICATIONS. 


The Complete Works of Thos. Dick, LL. D. 

11 vols. in 2 ; containing an Essay on the Improvement of Society; The 
Phi'osophy of a Future State ; The Philosophy of Religion ; The Mental 
Illumination and Moral Improvement of Mankind; An Essay on the Sins 
and Evils of Covetousness ; The Christian Philosopher, or Science and 
Bell jion ; Celestial Scenery Illustrated ; Si lerial Heavens plauets, etc.; 
The Practical Astronomer ; The Solar System, its wonders ; The Atmos¬ 
phere and Atmospherical Phenomena, etc. Illustrated with numerous 
engravings and a portrait. 2 vols. royal tivo. sheep, spring back, marbled 
edge. 

Thi3 edition is printed from entirely new plates, containing the recent re¬ 
vision of the author, and is the only complete edition published in the Uni¬ 
ted States. 

The works of Dr. Dick are so well known and appreciated, (being such as 
should be in the possession of every family and made the daily study of its 
members, old and young,) that the attempt to praise them would be like gild- 
! ' ing fine gold. 

“ Dick’s Works. —Those who read at all. know both the name of Dr. Dick 
and the work itself, now reprinted. It has long found acceptance with the 
public ”— Presbyterian Review, Edinburgh. 

“ The range of subjects contained in these several essays and scientific 
treatises is varied, all are highly important and of practical utility to mankind 
generally.”— Presbyterian of the West. 

“ The best recommendation which can lie given of Dr. Dick’s Works is the 
great popularity they have enjoyed, and the numerous editions of them, col¬ 
lected and separate, which have been published in England and America. 
Messrs. Applegate & Co. are deserving of much praise for the tasteful and 
handsome style in which they have issued the work, and at such a price as to 
be within the reach of all ”— Cincinnati Gazette. 

“ Dr. Dick’s works have filled a place occupied by no others, and have pre¬ 
sented the great facts of nature and the scientific movements and discoveries 
of the present-age, in a manner at once both pleasing and instructive.”— 
Central Watchman. 

“ The typography, plates, paper, and binding make the book more favor' 
able in appearance than any publication we have yet seen in the West, and 
without exulting any, we are glad to say it equals the publications of like 
works in New York or Boston. How glad we are to see this, as it tells well 
for go ahead Ohio.— Springfield. Republic. 

“ We hail this remarkably cheap and greatly improved edition of Dr. 
Dick’s admirable and highly popular Works. It is a real boon to the mil¬ 
lions to be able to purchase such an excellent work.for so inconsiderable a 
cost. We earnestly recommend this work to all our readers, and especially 
to all who desire to store their minds with general information.”— Wesleyan 
Associate Magazine, London. 

Eleven different works are embraced in these volumes, making it an edition 
full and complete. The range of subjects embraced in these several essays 
and scientific treatises, is varied, all are highly important and of practical 
utilitv to mankind generally. These characteristics of Dr. Dick’s writings, 
while they render them permanently valuable, insure for them also a wide 
circulation among all classes ot readers. Presbytevian of the Mest. 










APPLEGATE & CO.’s PUBLICATIONS. 


Rollin’s Ancient History. 

The Ancient History of the Carthagenians, Assyrians, Babylonians, Medes, 

and Persians, Grecians and Macedonians, including a History of the Arts 

and Sciences of the Ancients, with a Life of the Author. 2 vols. royal 8vo., 

sheep, spring back, marbled edge. 

One of the most complete and impartial works ever published. It takes 
us back to early days, and makes us live and think with the men of by-gone 
centuries. It spreads out to us in a pleasant and interesting style, not only 
the events which characterize the early ages, but the inner world of thought 
and feeling, as it swayed the leading minds of the times. No library is com¬ 
plete without Rollin’s Ancient History. 

“ A new edition of Rollin’s Ancient History has just been issued by Ap¬ 
plegate & Co. The value and importance of this work are universally ac¬ 
knowledged. Every private library is deficient without it; and it is now 
furnished at so cheap a rate, that every family should have it. It should be 
placed in the hands of all our youth, as infinitely more instructive and use¬ 
ful than the thousand and one trashy publications with which the country is 
deluged, and which are so apt to vitiate the taste and ruin the minds of young 
readers. One mere word in behalf of this new edition of Rollin : It may not 
be generally known, that in previous English editions a large and interesting 
portion of the work has been suppressed. The deficiencies are here supplied 
and restored from the French editions, giving the copy of Messrs. Applegate 
&. Co. a superiority over previous English editions.”— Western Recorder. 

“ This work in this form has been for some years before the public, and is 
the best and most complete edition published. The work is comprised in two 
volumes of about six hundred pages each, containing the prefaces of Rollin 
and the ‘ History of the Arts and Sciences of the Ancients,’ which have been 
omitted in most American editions.”— Springfield Republic. 

‘ k The work is too well known, and has too long been a favorite to require 
any commendationfrom us. Though in some matters more recent investi¬ 
gations have led to conclusions different from those of the author, yet his 
general accuracy is unquestionable.”— Western Christian Advocate. 

“ This work is so well known as standard—as necessary to the completion 
of every gentleman’s library—that any extended notice of it would be folly 
on our part. We have named it for the purpose of calling the attention of 
our readers to the beautiful edition issued by the enterprising house of Mess. 
Applegate &l Co.”— Methodist Protestant , Baltimore. 

The public are under obligations to Applegate & Co. for their splendid 
edition of this standard History.— Times. 

Works like this, that form a connecting link between the splendid civiliza¬ 
tion of the ancients, and the more enduring progress of the moderns, are a 
boon to the lover of literature and the student of History.— Railroad Record 

Time is fleeting—Empires perish and monuments moulder. But a book 
like this survives the wreck of time and the ravages of decay.— Globe. 

The history of departed kingdoms, with the causes of their sad decline and 
fall, serve as light-houses along the sea of life, to warn succeeding generations 
of their fate,, and to teach them to avoid the rocks and quicksands of error and 
guilt on which they were wrecked. In no history is this purpose so well ac¬ 
complished as in that of Rollin, a handsome edition of which has just been 
issued by Applegate & Co.— News. 











APPLEGATE & CO.’s PUBLICATIONS. 


The Spectator, 

By Addison, Steele, etc., 1 vol. royal 8vo., 750 pages, with portrait of 

Addison. Sheep, spring back, marble edge. 

The numerous calls fora complete and cheap edition of this valuable 
work, have induced us to newly stereotype it, in this form, corresponding in 
style and price with our other books. Its thorough revisions have been com¬ 
mitted to competent hands, and will be found complete. 

There is no work in the English language that has been more generally 
read, approved, and appreciated than The Spectator. It is a work that 
can be perused by persons of all classes and conditions of society with equal 
pleasure and profit. 

“ One hundred and forty years ago, when there were no daily newspapers 
nor periodicals, nor cheap fictions for the people, the Spectator had a daily 
circulation in England. It was witty, pithy, tasteful, and at times vigorous, 
and lashed the vices and follies of the age, and inculcated many useful les¬ 
sons which would have been disregarded from more serious sources. It was 
w idely popular.”— Central Christian Herald . 

“ Applegate & Co., 43 Main street, have just published, in a handsome 
octavo volume of 75o pages, one of the very best classics in our language. 
It would be superfluous at this day to write a line in commendation of this 
work.”— Cin. Com. 

“ There are few works, if any, in the English language that have been 
mo-re highly appreciated and generally read than the Spectator. It is in gen¬ 
eral circulation, and continues a popular work for general reading. I he 
chaste style of its composition, and purity of its diction, has placed it high 
in rank among the English classics.”— ISt. Louis llepubllcan. 

“ It is a source of general satisfaction to hear of the republication of a 
work of such standard merit as the Spectator. In these days, when the press 
teems with the issue of ephemeral publications, to subserve the purpose of 
an hour, to enlist momentary attention, and leave no improvement on the 
mind, or impression on the heart—it is a cause of congratulation to see, now 
and then, coming from the press such works as this ; to last as it should, so 
long as a pure taste is cultivated or esteemed.”— Cincinnati Gazette. 

“ Criticism upon the literary merits of the Spectator would be rather late 
and superfluous at the present time. Steele, Addison and Swift are above 
criticism. This edition is gotten up in style and form that will make it pecu¬ 
liarly acceptable to the admirers of English literature. It is bound in one 
volume, with copious notes of the contributors prefixed. The type is clear 
and elegant, the paper good, and the binding excellently suitable for the li¬ 
brary .’'— Cincinnati Daily Times. 

« Amid the rush and whirl of this locomotive and high pressure age—amid 
the almost breathless rage for the light and flimsy effusions w ith which the 
laboring press is inundating the world, Addison, the immortal Addison, 
one of the most beautiful, chaste, elegant, and instructive, as well as pie >sing 
w riters of the English language, may be pushed aside or overlooked for a 
time, but the healthful mind, satiated with the frothy productions of the 
times, will again return to such authors as Addison, and enjoy with renewed 
zest the pleasing converse of such, pure and noble spirits.” Mcthodut 
Monthly • 




















APPLEGATE & CO.’S PUBLICATIONS. 


Plutarch’s Lives, 

With Historical and Critical Notes, and a Life of Plutarch. Illustrated 

with a Portrait. 1 vol. royal 8vo., sheep, spring back, marbled edges. 

This edition has been carefully revised and corrected, and is printed upon 
entirely new plates, stereotyped by ourselves, to correspond with our library 
edition of Dick, etc. 

“Next in importance to a thorough knowledge of history, and in many 
respects fully equal to it, is the study of well authenticated biography For 
this valuable purpose, wo know of no work extant superior to the fifty lives 
of Plutarch. It is a rare magazine of literary and biographical knowledge. 
The eminent men whose lives compose this work, constitute almost the entire 
of that galaxy of greatness and brightness, which stretches across the horizon 
of the distant past, a>nd casts upon the present time a mild and steady lustre. 
Many of them are among the most illustrious of the earth.”— Nashville and 
Louisville Christian Advocate. 

“ No words of criticism, or of eulogy, need be spent on Plutarch’s Lives. 
Every body knows it to be the most popular book of biographies now extant 
in any known language. It has been more read, by the youth of all nations, 
for the last four or five centuries in particular, than any ever written. It 
has done more good, in its way, and has been the means of forming more 
sublime resolutions, and even more sublime characters, than any other work 
with which we are acquainted, except the Bible. It is a better piece of prop¬ 
erty for a young man to own, than an eighty acre lot in the Mississippi Val¬ 
ley, or many hundred dollars in current money. We would rather leave it 
as a legacy to a son, had we to make the choice, than any moderate amount 
of property, if we were certain he would read it. There are probably but 
few really great men now living, that have not been largely indebted to it for 
their early aspirations, in consequence of which they have achieved their 
greatness.”— Ladies' Repository. 

“ No book has been more generally sought after or read with greater 
avidity.”— Indiana State Sentinel. 

This is a magnificent 8vo., handsomely and substantially gotten up, in 
every respect highlv creditable to the enterprising house of Applegate & Co. 
Who has not read Plutarch ? for centuries it has occupied a commanding po¬ 
sition in the literature of the age. It needs no eulogy ; the reading public 
know it to be one of the most interesting, instructive and popular biographies 
now extant.— St. Louis Republican. 

The Western public are under obligations to Messrs. Applegate & Co., of 
Cincinnati, for the handsome and substantial manner in which they have re¬ 
cently got up editions of several standard works. Dick’s Works unabridged, 
Rollin’s Ancient History, and now Plutarch’s Lives, attest the enterprise and 
good judgment of this firm in their publishing department. To speak of the 
character and merits of Plutarch, which the old and the young of several 
generations are familiar with, would be presumptuous ; but we can with pro¬ 
priety refer in terms of high commendation to the manner in which this edi¬ 
tion has been got up in every department. The size is royal octavo, just 
right for the library. The paper is good, the typography excellent, and the 
calf binding just as it should be, neat and substantial. If this house contin¬ 
ues as it has begun, it will soon have an extended and enviable reputation for 
the character and style of its editions of standard works, and it will deservo 
it.— Cincinnati Daily Times. 
































APPLEGATE & CO.’s PUBLICATIONS. 


The Tattler and Guardian. 

By Addison. Steele, etc., with an account of the authors, by Thos. Bab- 

bington Macaulay. Illustrated with steel plate engravings. Complete in 

one volume, with notes and general indexes. 

Tattler and Gdardian. — Addison and Steele never wrote anything that 
was not good ; but superlatively so is the Tattler and Guardian. In con¬ 
junction with the Spectator , (and neither of them is complete without the 
other) it affords a full view of English, as well as Continental Society, one 
hundred and fifty years ago, and in a quaint and classic style vividly portrays 
the follies and vices of the age. With pleasant humor, keen wit, and bitter 
sarcasm, it overflows, and is entirely free from the nonsense and common¬ 
place twaddle and toadyism of much of the popular writings of the present 
day. It would be superfluous for us to say that the style in which it is writ¬ 
ten is chaste,classic and unique. No Library of Belles-Lettres is complete 
without it, and no scholar can appreciate the beauties of the English lan¬ 
guage until he has thoroughly studied the diction of Addison and Steele. 

The splendid series of articles contained in these journals, having such 
authors as Addison, Steele and their associates, living through a century and 
a half, and still retaining all their freshness, can not but make them in their 
present shape sought after in every enlightened community.— Cincinnati 
Daily Times. 

The Tattler and Guardian, whose capital Essays by Addison, Steele, 
Tickell and others, long since placed the volume in theforemost rank among 
the English classics.— Cincinnati Press. 

They were and are yet models of composition, almost indispensable to a 
thorough knowledge of Belles-Lettres.— Cincinnati Enquirer. 

The writings of Addison, Steele and their associates have rarely been is* 
sued in a form so well adapted for the general circulation which they deserve. 
—Cincinnati Gazette. 

As a collection of rich essays, in beautiful English, The Tattler needs no 
commendation from our pen.— Ohio State Journal. 

The publishers have done the public a good service by placing this foun* 
tain of pure thought and pure English in a convenient form.— Western 
Christian Advocate. 

No library is complete unless the TATTLERand Guardian is on its shelves, 
and every man of literary tastes regards its possession as a necessity.— Ma¬ 
sonic B&view. 

Tattler and Guardian. —Who has not heard of Addison and Steele, and 
where is the scholar or lover of English Literature who ha3 not read the 
Spectator ? It is a part of English literature that we could not afford to lose. 
The writings of such men as Addison and Steele are good in any age. The 
book now before us is by the same authors.— Ledger. 

Among all the flippant publications of the present day, in which there is 
an awful waste of paper and ink, it is refreshing to see a reprint of a work of 
standard merit such as the Tattler and Guardian. The criticisms of over a 
century have only more clearly pointed out its merits and established its 
rep u tatio n.— Democrat. 






















APPLEGATE & CO.’S PUBLICATIONS. 


Mosheiin’s Eeclesiaslical History; 

Ancient and Modern, from the Birth of Christ to the beginning of the Eigh¬ 
teenth Century, in which the rise, progress and variations of Church Power 
are considered in their connection with the Stati of learning and philoso¬ 
phy, and the political history of Europe during that period. Continued to 
the year 1826, by Charles Coote, LL. D., 8UG pages, quarto, sheep, spring 
back, marbled edge. 

This edition forms the most splendid volume of Church History ever issued 
from the American Press ; is printed with large type, on elegant paper, and 
altogether forms the most accessible and imposing history of the Church that 
is before the public.— Oosjiel Herald. 

This great standard history of the Church from the birth of Christ, has just 
been issued in a new dress by the extensive publishing house of Applegate 
& Co. Nothing need be said by us in relation to the merits or reliability of 
Mosheim’s History ; it has long borne the approving seal of the Protestant 
world.— Masonic Review. 

To the Christian world, next to the golden Bible itself, in value, is an accu¬ 
rate, faithful. and life-like delineation of the rise and progress, the develop¬ 
ment and decline of the Christian Church in all its varieties of sects and de¬ 
nominations, their tenets, doctrines, manners, customs and government 
Such a work is Mosheim’s Ecclesiastical History. Like “ Ilollin’s History 
of the Ancients,’* it is the standard, and is too well known to need a word of 
comment.— Advocate. 

But little need be said of the history as a standard work. It has stood first 
on the list of Church histories, from the day it became known to scholars, 
down to the present time ; and there is but little probability that any new one 
will soon set it aside.— Beauty of Holiness. 

No Church History, particularly as it respects the external part of it, was 
ever written, which was more full and reliable than this ; and indeed, in all 
respects, we opine, it will be a long time before it will be superseded.— Lite¬ 
rary Casket. 

Who has not felt a desire to know something more of the early history, rise 
and progress of the Christian Church than can usually be found in the po¬ 
litical histories of the world ? Mosheim’s Church History, just published by 
our Western Publishing House of Applegate & Co., contains just the infor¬ 
mation which every believer in Christianity so much needs. It fills the space 
hitherto void in Christian Literature, and furnishes a most valuable book for 
the student of Christianity. Every clergyman and teacher, every Sunday 
School and household, should have a copy of Mosheim’s Church History.— 
Herald. 

The work is printed on beautiful whitepaper, clear large type, and is bound 
in one handsome volume. No man ever sat down to read Mosheim in so 
pleasing a dress. What a treat is such an edition to one who has been study¬ 
ing the elegant work in the small, close print of other editions. Any one woh 
has not an ecclesiastical history should secure a copy of this edition. It is 
not necessary for us to say anything in relation to the merits of Mosheim’s 
Church History. For judgment, taste, candor, moderation, simplicity, learn¬ 
ing, accuracy, order, and comprehensiveness, it is unequaled. The author 
spared no pains to examine the original authors and ‘’genuine sources of 
sacred history,” and to scrutinize all the facts presented by the light of the 
“ pure lamps of antiquity.”— Telescope, Dayton , 0. 













APPLEGATE & CO.’S PUBLICATIONS. 


Lorenzo Dow's Complete Works. 

The Dealings of God, Man and the Devil, as exemplified in the Life, Expe¬ 
rience and Travels of Lorenzo Dow, in a period of over half a century, 

* together with his Polemic and Miscellaneous Writings complete. To which 
is added, TIIE VICISSITUDES OF LIFE, by Pkogy Dow, with an In¬ 
troductory Essay, by John Dowling, D. D., of New York, MAKING TIIE 
BEST AND MOST COMPLETE EDITION PUBLISHED. 1vol. 8vo., 
library binding, spring back, marbled edge. d 

* Notices of the Press. 

Several editions of the Life and Works of Lorenzo Dow have been issued 
by different publishers, but the most complete and accurate is the one pub¬ 
lished by Applegate &. Co., Cincinnati. After perusing it and reflecting on 
the good he accomplished not mentioned in this volume, we came to the 
conclusion that, if for the last hundred years, every minister had been a 
Lorenzo Dow, the whole world would have been civilized, if not christian¬ 
ized, some time since. 

“ No wonder that he was finally crucified at Georgetown, D. C , if it is 
true, as reported in some quarters, he was poisoned by some enemies who 
I followed him to his retreat.” 

“ Lorenzo Dow was not ‘ one,’ but * three ’ of them, a St. Paul in bless¬ 
ing souls—a Washington in seeking the best interests of his country, and a 
Howard in getting people * out of the prison ’ of conservatism and oppres¬ 
sion.” 

“ We decide {ex cathedra) that one of the most interesting works ever 
placed on our table is ‘ The. Complete Works of Lorenzo Dow,’ embracing 
his travels in Europe and America, his polemic and poetical writings and 
‘ Journey of Life,’ by his wife Peggy, who heroically accompanied him in 
many of his peregrinations.” 

“ Full as an egg is of meat, so was Lorenzo Dow of sparkling wit and 
genuine good humor. He overflowed with anecdote like a bubbling fountain 
in a sandy basin, and was never at a loss for a good and lively story where¬ 
with to illustrate his subject and engage the attention of his hearers. His 
audience ever listened with breathless attention, and drank in his saying3 
with wondrous admiration and reverence. By some he was regarded as one 
of those special messengers the Almighty sent in times of great dearth of 
godliness and piety, to wake up the slumbering church. He evidently had 
his mission, and thousands now living throughout the land can testify as to 
how he filled it. 

“ His life was one continuous scene of adventure and anecdote, ever vary¬ 
ing and full of the life-giving power of enthusiasm. Spotless in purity, 
faultless in heart, and wholly devoted to the cause he had espoused—the 
cause of Christ. ” 

“ This is the best octavo edition of Dow’s complete works now published. 
The writings of this remarkable and eccentric man have been before the pub¬ 
lic for years. They have been read by thousands. If not altogether unex¬ 
ceptionable, they embrace many wholesome truths. Vice in all its forms is 
rebuked with characteristic severity : his bitter sarcasm and cutting wit are 
employed in many instances to good effect. Ilis wife sqems to have been a 
kindred spirit, and both, with all their peculiar eccentricities, no doubt were 
truly devoted Christians, doing what they sincerely believed to be for the 
spiritual good, of their fellow-beings, and the glory of God. Those who hava 
not read this book will find sufficient to instruct and interest them.” 









APPLEGATE & CO.’s PUBLICATIONS. 


Guizot’s Gibbon’s History of the Decline and 
Fall of the Roman Empire; 

A new edition, revised and corrected throughout, preceded by a preface, and 
accompanied by notes, critical and historical, relating principally to the 
propagation of Christianity. By M. F. Guizot, Minister ofPubllc Instruc¬ 
tion for the kingdom of France. The Preface, Notes and Corrections trans¬ 
lated from the French .expressly for this edition—with a notice of the life 
and character of Gibbon, and Watson’s reply to Gibbon. In 2 vols. impe¬ 
rial Svo., sheep, spring back, mai’ble edge. 

We are pleased to see a republication of Guizot’s Gibbon, with the notes, 
which have never before been republished in English. Gibbon, so far as we 
know, stands alone in filling up the historical space between the Roman Cae¬ 
sars and the revival of literature .—Cincinnati Chronicle. 

While there are numbers of Historians of the early days of the great Em¬ 
pire, Gibbon stands almost alone as the historian of its fall. The present 
edition, with the notes of Guizot, is a treasure of literature that will be highly 
prized. 

The vices of the Roman Empire, that like the vipers in the bosom of Cle¬ 
opatra, caused her destruction, are traced from their first inception, and should 
act as beacon-lights on the shores of time, to guide other nations that are 
following in her footsteps. 

Altisonant Letters. 

Letters from Squire Pedant in the East, to Lorenzo Altisonant, an emigrant 
to the West, for the Benefit of the Inquisitive Young. 1 vol. 12mo., cloth. 

The publishers of the following letters do not present them as models of 
style, but as a pleasant means of obtaining the meaning of the greater part of 
the unusual words of the English language, on the principle of “association 
of ideas.” In the column of a dictionary there is no connection between the 
definition of words, consequently, the committed definitions are soon lost to 
the pupil. By placing in such a juxtaposition as to form some kind of sense» 
the learner will the more readily retain the meaning of the word used 

To the Youngsters. By the Author. 

Young Frienos: —Some one has said “that words not understood are like 
uncracked nuts—the lusciousness of the kernel is not enjoyed.” Believing 
this to be so, and thinking that there are now many uncracked nuts in the 
English language, the author went up into old John Walker's garret, and 
gathered “lots” of old and hard nuts, and brought them down for you, and 
then he went into old Noah’s ark—he means old Noah Webster’s dictionary 
—and gathered many more, and by the assistance of Mr. Altisonant, placed 
them in the “letter-basket,” with the hammer, the dictionary, laid side by 
side. Will you take up the hammer and crack the nuts, and enjoy the ker¬ 
nel ? Try it. Your friend, S. K. IIOSHOUR. 

A rare book this, and rare amusement it will afford to the reader.— Daily 
Times. 





















APPLEGATE & CO.’S PUBLICATIONS. 


Farmer’s Hand Book; 

Bain" a full and complete Guide for the Farmer and Emigrant, comprising 

the clearing of Forest and Prairie land, Gardening and Panning generally. 

Farriery, and the prevention and cure of diseases, with copious Hints, Ke- 

ceipts and Tables. 12mo., cloth. 

The publishers are gratified that they are enabled to satisfy the universal 
demand for a volume which comprises a mass of superior material, derived 
from the most authentic sources and protracted research. 

The contents of the “ Farmer’s Hand Book ” comprise about fifteen hun¬ 
dred points of information respecting the management of a Farm, from the 
first purchase and clearing of the land, to all its extensive details and de¬ 
partments. The necessary conveniences, the household economy, the care 
of animals, the preservation of domestic health, the cultivation of fruits, with 
the science and taste of the arborist, and the production of the most advan¬ 
tageous articles for sale, are all displayed in a plain, instructive and mos- 
satisfactory manner, adapted peculiarly to the classes of citizens for whose 
use and benefit the work is specially designed. Besides a general outline of 
the Constitution, with the Naturalization and Preemption Laws of the United 
States, there is appended a Miscellany of 120 pages, including a rich variety 
of advice, hints and rules, the study and knowledge of which will unspeak¬ 
ably promote both the comfort and welfare of all who adopt and practice 
them. 

The Farmer’s Hand Book is a handsomely bound work of 478 pages. It 
treats of farming in all its various departments, buildings, fences, house- 
; hold and culinary arrangements, diseases of Horses, Cattle, Sheep, Swine, 
•etc., etc., and gives the remedies suited to each. It has a valuable treatise on 
the use of medicine, with hints for the preservation of health and the treat¬ 
ment of wounds, accidents, etc., and also contains a vast amount of valuable 
receipts, tables and facts, to aid the male and female in this important busi¬ 
ness of life. No farmer can fail to be benefited by reading this work.— Valley 
Agriculturist. 

Though this book has been before the public a few years, it will prove a 
useful, instructive treatise on a great variety of interesting subjects to the 
farmer and emigrant to a new country. Its hints upon farming interests 
must be valuable to the agriculturist. Agriculture is now to a very great 
extent reduced to a science, and all the reliable information touching that 
j branch of industry is appreciated by a large portion of the farming popula¬ 
tion. This work will be of great service to them .—CFallon Polytechnic 
Institute. 

“ The Farmer’s nand-Book is a collection of facts, hints, receipts, and 
really valuable information, which should be in the hands of every farmer in 
the land. We find in it directions for purchasing and clearing timber land, 
prairie farming, hints on the general management of a farm, for the con' 
struction of buildings and fences, a treatise on the dairy, also a household 
department, comprising all kinds of cookery .”—Clarksville Jeffersonian. 











APPLEGATE & CO.’s PUBLICATIONS. 


Dick’s Theology. 

Lectures on Theology. By the late Rev. John Dick, D. D.. Minister of the 

United Associate Congregation, Grayfriar, Glasgow, and Professor of The¬ 
ology in the United Session Church. Published under the superintendence 

of his Son. With a Biographical Introduction. By an American Editor. 

With a Steel Portrait of Dr. Dick. 

" We recommend this work in the very strongest terms to the Biblical stu¬ 
dent. It is, as a whole, superior to any other system of theology in our lan¬ 
guage. As an elementary book, especially fitted for those who are commenc¬ 
ing the study of divinity, it is unrivaled.”— Christian Keepsake. 

“ This is a handsome octavo of GOO pages, published in uniform style with 
the other valuable standard works of Applegate & Co. It contains a tho¬ 
rough and enlightened view of Christian Theology, in which the author pre¬ 
sents in beautiful, simple and forcible style, the evidences of authenticity of 
the sacred text, the existence and attributes of the Deity, the one only and 
unchangeable God The fall of man, and its consequences, and the restora¬ 
tion of the fallen through the intercession of the Crucified. It is one of the 
most simple and yet elevated of wonts devoted to sacred subjects.”— Lite¬ 
rary Casket. 

“ The lecturer, throughout, displays an extensive and a most accurate 
knowledge of the great variety of important topics which come before him. 
His system has all the advantages of fair proportion : there is nothing neg¬ 
lected, and nothing overlooked. His taste is correct and pure, even to se¬ 
verity ; nothing is admitted, either in language or in matter, that can not 
establish the most indisputable right to be so ; lienee, he is alike lucid in his 
arrangement, and perspicuous in style.”— Christian Instructor. 

“ We consider these Lectures as no small accession to our Theological 
literature, and would cordially recommend them to the perusal, not merely , 
of the professional divine, but also to the general reader. They are charac¬ 
terized throughout by a clear and perspicuous style, by tasteful illustration, 
by fervent, manly piety, by candor and per'ect fairness in stating the opin¬ 
ions of all from whom he differs, and by a modest and firm defense of * the 
t,uth as it is in .Jesus.’ The most intricate doctrines are unfolded with admi¬ 
rable tact.”— Presbyterian Review. 

“ Pew men of the present day appear to have united more requisites for 
the office of Theological Lecturer. As a theologian, we are told, Dr. Dick 
was distinguished by the strictness with which he adhered to the great Pro¬ 
testant rule of making the Bible, in its plain meaning, the source of his reli¬ 
gious creed, and the basis of his theological system. The intellectual excel¬ 
lence for which he was chiefly remarkable, was that of conceiving clearly ; 
which, when united, as in him, with acuteness and a sound j udgment, must 
be peculiarly useful in theological investigations. To these high requisites, 
he added a very correct taste, dignified manners, gentleness of heart, and 
fervent piety, such as rendered him an object of affectionate veneration to his 
pupils, and of no ordinary attachment to his friends. We can not conclude 
this notice of so valuable a work, without cordially recommending it to our 
readers.”— Eclectic Magazine. 

“ On every subject which he discusses, Dr. Dick may safely be trusted as a 
Scriptural guide. He always thinks for himself, displaying a mind of much 
acuteness, enriched with extensive information, imbued with the deepest reve¬ 
rence for the authority of scripture. Ilis taste is pure, and his style obvi¬ 
ously formed upon the finest models,”— Christian Journal. 












APPLEGATE & CO.’s PUBLICATIONS. 


Gathered Treasures 

From the'Mines of Literature. 

Containin': Tales, Sketches, Anecdotes and Gems of Thought, Literary and 

Moral, Pleasing and Instructive. Illustrated with steel engravings. 8vo., 

embossed sheep, colored, marbled edge. 

To furnish a volume of miscellaneous literature, both pleasing and instruc 1 
tive, has been the object of the editor in compiling this work, as well as to 
supply, to some extent at least, the place that is now occupied by publications 
which few will deny, are of a questionable moral tendency. 

It has been the intention to make this volume a suitable traveling and fire¬ 
side companion, profitably engaging the leisure moments of the former, and 
adding an additional charm to the glow of the latter ; to blend amusement 
with instruction, pleasure with profit, and to present an extensive garden of 
vigorous and useful plants, and beautiful and fragrant flowers, among which 
perchance, there may be a few of inferior worth, though none of utter inutil¬ 
ity. While it is not exclusively a religious book, yet it contains no article 
that may not be read by the most devoted Christian. 

“ How important to place within the reach of the people such hooks that 
will instruct the mind, cheer the heart, and improve the understanding— 
books that are rich in the three grand departments of human knowledge— 
literature, morals and religion. Such a book is * Gathered Treasures.’ We 
can cheerfully recommend it to all.”— Intelligencer. 

“ A book of general merit, diversified yet truly rich and valuable in its 
interests; thrilling in many of its incidents; instructive in principle, and 
strictly moral in its tendency.”— Cin. Temperance Organ. 

“ This is both an instructive and entertaining book, from which many a 
sparkling gem of thought may be culled. Its vast range of subjects affords 
both pleasure and instruction. It is a book of pastime, and time not usually 
lost in its perusal.”— St. Louis Democrat. 

“ Gathered Treasures from the Mines of Literature.” —As its 
title imports, it is a suitable traveling and fireside companion, profitably en- 
gagi ng the leisure moments of the former, and adding an additional charm 
to the cheerful glow of the latter. It blends amusement with instruction and 
pleasure with profit.— Freeport (III.) Bulletin. 

Gathered Treasures from the Mines of Literature. —The above is 
the title of an excellent work now publishing by the well-known firm of Ap¬ 
plegate & Co. It is certainly one of rare merit, and well calculated for a 
rapid and general circulation. Its contents present an extensive variety of 
subjects, and these not only carefully but judiciously selected and arranged 
in appropriate departments. It is a work of pleasing and instructive char¬ 
acter, free from all sectarian bias and impure tendencies, and designed to sup¬ 
plant, in part, the light literature, or what is more appropriate, the ephem¬ 
eral trash of the day. Its contents have also been highly spoken of by men 
of distinguished literary acumen, both Editors and Ministers of various 
Christian denominations. We cheerfully recommend it to the attention and 
patronage o l the public.— Cincinnati Times. 






















APPLEGATE & CO.’s PUBLICATIONS. 

> 


Webb's Freemason’s Monitor; 

By Thomas Smith Webb. A new edition, printed on fine paper, large and 
clear type, beautifully and symbolically illustrated—containing all the 
Degrees from Entered Apprentice to Knights of Malta, together with a 
Sketch of the Origin of Masonry, Government of the Fraternity, Ceremony 
of Opening and Closing the Lodge, with full directions for Instituting and 
Installing all Masonic Bodies. To which is added A MONITOR OF THE 
ANCIENT AND ACCEPTED RITE, containing ample Illustrations of 
all the Grades from Secret Master to Sovereign Grand Inspector General, 
including the series of Eleven Grades known as the Ineffable Degrees, 
arranged according to the work practiced under the jurisdiction of the Su¬ 
preme Couucil of the Thirty-third Degree. By E. T. Carson. 

Cincinnati, 0. 

Gentlemen :—Haring carefully examined your new edition of “ Webb’s 
Freemason’s Monitor,” we find it to correspond with the system of work as 
now adopted in all the Masonic bodies in the United States, and we take 
great pleasure in recommending it to the Craft throughout the country, as 
being the most useful and well arranged practical Manual of Freemasonry 
that we have yet seen. 

D. II. MEARS, W. M of N. C Harmony Lodge, No. 2. 

WILLIAM SEE, W. M. of Miami Lodge, No. 48. 

J. M. PARKS, W M. of Lafayette Lodge, No. 81. 

HOWARD MATTHEWS, W. M. of Cincinnati Lodge, No. 133. 

C. MOORE W. M. of McMillan Lodge, No. 141. 

E. T, CARSON, W. M. of Cynthia Lodge. No. 155. 

ANDREW PFIRRMANN, W. M. of Han^elrnanu Lodge. No. 208. 

WM. C. MIDDLETON, H. P. of Cincinnati R. A. Chanter. No. 2. 

CHAS. BROWN. H. P. of McMillan R. A. Chapter, No. 19. 

C. F. IIANSELMANN, G. C. of Cincinnati Encampment, No. 3. 

* * * The admirable arrangement of the emblems of Masonry in your 
edition of Webb’s Freemason’s Monitor, makes the work complete* and I am 
muckpleased to say it meets mv entire approval. 

HORACE M. STOKES, Grand Master of Ohio. 
The language, charges, etc., I have used in all my Masonic work, and 
would not change under any circumstances. I freely recommend the 
“ Monitor ” to be adopted and used in my jurisdiction. 

SOLOMON F. BAYLESS, Grand Master of Masons in Indiana. 

Gentlemen :—I have looked over your “ Webb’s Freemason’s Monitor,’’ 
and am much pleased with the general arrangement of our Rituals, and the 
several Lectures, Charges and Lessons ; and do most cheerfully recommend 
the “Monitor” as the best hand-book of Masonry I have ever seen. 

Yours respectfully, JACOB GRAFF, P. G. II. P. 

Of the Grand Chapter of Royal Arch Masons of the State of Ohio. 

I have carefully examined the Webb and Carson Monitors which you have 
just published, and feel constrained to say that in its mechanical execution 
and arrangement it will add much to the already high reputation of yours as 
a publishing house. W. B. DODDS, P. G. M. of Ohio. 

We can not too strongly recommend to the Craft the above named book— 
it is an indispensable work to Royal Arch Masons particularly, bat no Free¬ 
mason of any degree ought to be without a copy. It is a standard Masonic 
work of the highest reputation.— Mirror and Keystone , Philadelphia. 






























rp 


APPLEGATE & CO.’s PUBLICATIONS. 


Elements of the German Language; 

A Practical Manual for acquiring the art of reading, speaking and composing 

German. By Theodore Soden, Professor of the German Language and 

Literature, at the Woodward and Hughes’ High Schools of Cincinnati. 

1 vol. 12mo., half cloth. 

From A. n. McGuffey, Esq. 

“ The work is very complete in embracing all the more important gram¬ 
matical rules and terms, (with copious exercises under each), and omitting 
only such as by their minuteness and complication, would teud rather to con¬ 
fuse than assist the beginner. It everywhere bears the marks of most care¬ 
ful preparation, and is evidently the work of an experienced practical 
teacher.” 

From Judge J. B. Stallo. 

u Professor Soden has most skillfully selected and arranged his exercises. 
The book, though of unpretending form, has by no means disappointed the 
expectations which the eminence of Prof. Soden as a scholar and a teacher 
had caused me to entertain, and I cheerfully recommend it as the most valu¬ 
able introduction to the study of German which has fallen under my notice.’* 

From Rev. William Nast. 

“ Mr. Soden’s work is truly superior, original and the fruit of successful 
experience in teaching. A peculiar recommendation of it is, that the student 
can make immediate practical use of every lesson he learns, for instance, one 
of the primary lessons consists in a concise and entertaining dialogue on the 
principal grammatical rules. The subject-matter of the exercises is chosen 
with great care, in view of gradual progression, and refers not to imaginary, 
useless objects, but f to the real concerns, relations, business and interests of 
social and civil American life, and is, therefore, interesting for the student. 
Of especial use are also the strictly progressive exercises in translating from 
English into German.” 

From Ph. J, Klund, Prof, of Modern Languages at Farmer’s College, Ham¬ 
ilton County, Ohio. 

“ If along experience and numerous experiments trive some claim to a 
downright opinion, we do not hesitate to pronounce this book the best, the 
most practical, the most judicious, and within the limits of a school book, the 
most complete English-German Grammar yet published.” 

From Rev. Wm. G. W. Lewis, Prof, at the Wesleyan Female College, Cin’ti* 

“ I particularly admire the easy gradations by which the student is led on 
from that which is simple and readily understood, to that which is more dif¬ 
ficult. I find in it an unusual amount of that which is ordinarily the un¬ 
written grammar of the language, that part I mean which is usually left to 
the skill and care of the student, and which, on that very account, is often 
denied to the student. 

I therefore consider your work well calculated to secure the great end at 
which I know well you have aimed in its preparation, namely, a compre¬ 
hensive and schelarly mastery of the German language.” 

From Dr. J. S. Unzicker, Cincinnati. 

“ This work has been compiled with great care and judgment, and is far 
more comprehensive and practical than any similar work I know of. It is 
well adapted for the use of our High Schools, and especially for those of 
English parentage, who wish to study the German language.” 













APPLEGATE & CO.’S PUBLICATIONS. 


Memoirs of (he Life of Dr. Daniel Drake, 

Physician, Professor and Author, with notices of the early settlement of Cin¬ 
cinnati, a nd some of its pioneer citizens, with a steel portrait of Dr. Drake. 

By E. D. Mansfield, LL. D. 1 vol. 12mo. 

Dr. Drake was an extraordinary man. Talents of no ordinary character, 
developed by unceasing industry, raised him from comparative obscurity and 
placed him amongst the most eminent and scientific men. He was at the same 
time one of the most sincere, humble, spiritual disciples of Christ. As an 
eminent Physician and.as a man of general scientific attainments, he has con¬ 
tributed largely to the stock of useful knowledg e. As a Christian, he was a 
“burning and shining light.”—A t. Lows Republican. 

We are deeply indebted to Mr. Mansfield and Messrs. Applegate & Co., for 
this timely book, putting on record the life and wonderful exertions of one 
whom we have ever been taught to cherish with sincerest admiration while 
living, and for whose memory in death we cultivate the most profound vene¬ 
ration.— Templar's Magazine. 

Medical science in the West is largely indebted to Dr. Drake. Almost self- 
educated. he arrived at Cincinnati at the age of fifteen, and was there instruc¬ 
ted in the art of healing by Dr. Goforth, a physician of the old school. Drake 
was the first student of medicine in Cincinnati, and was so apt a pupil that at 
the age of eighteen he became his instructor’s partner.— Ne/io York Times. 

This will be an acceptable book everywhere in the West, as a record of tho 
enterprise and successful labors of one of the most eminent men and earliest 
settlers.— Cincinnati Times. 

Christianity 

As exemplified in tlie Conduct of its Sincere Professors. 

By the Rev. W. Secker. 12mo., embossed cloth. 

This is a book of rare merit, full of thought-exciting topics, and is particu¬ 
larly valuable as an aid to Christian devotion. 

This is a reprint of a quaint old English book, entitled “ The None-Such 
Professor in his Meridian Splendor.” It abounds in pithy sentences and 
suggestive expressions, and should be read by such as wish to put a spur to 
tho ug ht..— Madison Courier. 

This is a book of more than ordinary merit, and may be made a valuable 
assistant to the Christian, as he strives to grow in grace. It has its founda¬ 
tion on Mat. v. 47, “What do ye more than others.”— Beauty of Jloliness. 

This is a book every professor of religion ought to procure and read. We 
predict for it a large circulation and a useful mission among men.— Brook - 
ville American. 

Popular Christianity and Christianity exemplified by its sincere professors 
are two entirely different things, and we hazard nothing in saying that a stu¬ 
dious perusal of this little book will add its share in producing the latter. 

From Rev. W. R. Babcock. 

This is a most charming work on practical religion. It is a treatise of more 
than ordinary merit as an aid to Christian virtue and devotion. It abounds 
With living thought, and may be read at all times with religious profit. 





APPLEGATE & CO.’s PUBLICATIONS. 


The Lord's Prayer Explained, 

In which the terms are defined and the text carefully considered. By Rev. 

A. A. Jimkson, M. D. 12mo., embossed cloth. 

This is a volume of rare excellence, written in the author’s usual style of 
great beauty and elegance. It sparkles with gems of elevated thought, and 
abounds in the most happy illustrations of the great philosophical bearings 
of the several petitions of the Lord’s Prayer. 

This work abounds in fervent piety, clothed in elegant and attractive lan¬ 
guage, and can not be read without profit, unless the reader is wholly lost to 
all the better feelings of his nature.— Jeffersonian. 

So simple is the verbal formation of this prayer and so simple are the seve¬ 
ral petitions it cont uns as they appear to the careless reader, that its profound 
depth and sublime instructions are too often overlooked. The book is a gem 
for a Christian’s library.— Cincinnati Daily Times. 

This is an interesting practical exposition of the various petitions, etc., in 
the Lord’s Prayer. It is well calculated to instruct the minds and quicken 
the hearts of Christians, and being a Western book—a home book, it will, no 
doubt, have a wide circulation, and do much good.— Christian Herald. 

This is a charming and most excellent digest of this inimitable portion of 
God’s Word.— /St. Louis Sentinel. 

No person can read the book without profit, and infancy, maturity and old 
ate would alike be benefited by its perusal.— Masonic Review. 

It is just the volume to present to a child or a friend, in whose mind you 
would desii-e at once to incite and answer the question, “Teach me how to 
pray.”— Journal and Messenger. 

Notes on the Twenty-five Articles of Religion, 

As received and taught by Methodists in the United States, in which the doc¬ 
trines are carefully considered and supported by the testimony of the Holy 

Scriptures. By Rev. A. A. Jimeson, M. D. With a portrait of the author. 

12mo., embossed cloth. 

This book contains a clear exposition of the doctrines of the Articles, and 
of the errors against which the Articles were directed, written in a popular 
style, and divided into sections, for the purpose of presenting each doctrine 
and its opposite error in the most prominent manner. 

From the Rev. John Miller. 

It is a book for the Methodist and for the age—a religious mnltum in 
parvo —combining sound theology with practical religion. It should be 
found in every Methodist family. 

The style is clear and forcible, the illustrations are just, the arguments 
sound. The author has performed a good and useluf work for all the Meth¬ 
odist bodies in the world *, as his book will furnish a very sat sfactory exposi¬ 
tion of the leading doctrines of Methodism.— Western Christian Advocate. 

We have looked carefully over this volume, and find it to be truly what it 
purports to be.— Cincinnati Daily Times. 

A timely aid to the private Christian and to the pulpit.— Boston Herald 














APPLEGATE & CO.’S PUBLICATIONS. 


Religious Courtship; 

Or Marriage on Christian principles. 

By Daniel Defoe, author of “ The Life and Adventures of Robinson Cru* 

soe,” &c,, <fec. 12mo., cloth. 

Who has not read Robinson Crusoe ? It has fascinated every boy, and 
stimulated his first taste for reading. Defoe has been equally happy in thi3 
present work, in interesting those of riper years, at an age (Shakspeare’s age 
of the lover) when the mind is peculiarly susceptible of impressions. Altho 1 
but few copies of this work have ever been circulated in America, yet it has 
a popularity in England co-extensive with his unparalleled “ Crusoe.” 

Young persons should by all means read it, and with particular attention, 
for it furnishes important directions relative to the most important act of life. 
—Masonic Review. 

Who would have thought that the author of “ Robinson Crusoe” could 
have written such a book as this ; but it seems he did so.— Jour, and Mess. 

We commend it to all whom it may concern.— Albany Argus. 

The subject is- one of great importance, and it is suggestive of valuable 
counsel.— Rev , Wm. R. Babcock. 

This book is of rare excellence. The best of instruction and counsel are 
given in a very attractive and pleasing form.— Miami Visitor. 

Universalism against itself; 

Or, an Examination and Refutation of the Principal Arguments claimed in 

support of the final Holiness and Happiness of Mankind. By Alexander 

Hall. Revised and corrected by W. P. Strickland, D. D. 12mo., cloth. 

This work contains a vigorous and earnest remonstrance against the doc¬ 
trines of universal salvation. It is characterized by great perspicuity and 
directness.— Albany Argus. 

It is better than any volume of debates on the same subject, and should be 
in the hands of every minister, or others investigating the subject.— Beauty 
of Holiness. 

This volume is not only valuable to the general reader, but is excellent as 
a reference hook, and should be in the hands of every person who lives in a 
region troubled by the heresy of Universalism.— 1Vashville and Louisville 
Christian Advocate. 

This wor-k will certainly prove a burr in the hands of Universalists who take 
it up. It is that species of warfare, by which combatants seize upon an ene 
my’spark of artillery and turn it against them.— Journal and Messenger. 

Those who are almost persuaded to become Universalists, or have been en¬ 
tangled in their net, will do well to peruse this hcok. It will, of course, do 
them no harm, even if Universalism be true.— Lady Reus. 

From Rev. W. R. Babcock. 

We can commend this book to those who wish to study the subject upon 
which it treats. Y„ is a book for the people, devoid of metaphysical abstrac¬ 
tions to bewilder the mind and neutralize the force of Scripture authority. 












APPLEGATE & CO.’s PUBLICATIONS 


Methodism Explained and Defended, 

By Rev. John S. InsKip. This is an exposition and defense of the polity of 
Methodism, giving a brief history of its introduction, in England and 
America, and contains a large and valaable collection of statistics, connec¬ 
ted with the progress of the Church in various sections of the country. 
12mo., embossed cloth. 

If any one without, or within, the compass of that branch of the Christian 
Church, wishes to know what Methodism really is, as viewed and taught by 
a progressive, liberal-minded man,this is the book to meet his wants.” But 
what we especially like in this book, is the fearless and just estimate which 
the author puts upon such things as are deemed non-essential, in the econo¬ 
my of the Church. He has had the courage tc stand up and speak face to 
face with ecclesiastical authority, truths which others have only dared to 
think,— Dayton Journal . 

We have read this book with no ordinary interest, and, on the whole, re¬ 
joice in its appearance for several reasons—First, It is a concise and power¬ 
ful defense of every essential feature of Methodism, now-a-days so much 
assailed by press and pulpit. Second, The general plan and character of 
the work are such, that it will be read and appreciated by the great masses of 
our people who are not familiar with moTe extended and elaborate works. 
Third, It is highly conservative and practic al in its tendencies, and will em¬ 
inently tend to create liberal views and mutual concession between the min¬ 
istry and laity for the good of the whole—a feature in our economy never to 
be overlooked. Fourth, This work is not written to advocate $ome local or 
neighborhood prejudice; neither to confute some particular heresy or assault; 
but its views are peculiarly denominational and comprehensi ve, indicating 
the careful and wide observation of the author—free from bigotry and narrow 
prejudice.— Herald and Journal, 

Home for the Million; 

Or, Gravel Wall Buildings. 

This is one of the most desirable books published, for all who contemplate 
erecting dwellings or out-houses, as the cost is not over one-third that of 
Brick or Frame, and quite as durable. Illustrated with numerous plans 
aud cut of the author’s residence, with full directions, that every man may 
be his own builder. 12mo-, cloth. 

The process is simple and easy, and the walls once built, become as hard 
as common rock, and are impervious to the corrodings of time, and the 
peltings of the inclement storm, as well as the ravages of fire; beside, it is 
said that this method of building is cheaper by one-half than brick, stone, or 
frame buildings, and the inner walls never get d imp, as brick and stone often 
do. The plan has been successfully tested by the author and many others.— 
Railroad Record. 

This book is a treasure to every man wbo desires to have a house of his 
own, comfortable and durable, without costing a fortune. Every one intend¬ 
ing building should buy this book : it will be worth to him a hundred times 
it3 cost, before he is done building.— Masonic Review. 

Any man who had sufficient genius when a boy to mould a sand oven over 
his naked foot, can construct the wails of one of these houses.— Aurora 
Standard. 



























APPLEGATE & CO.’S PUBLICATIONS. 

% 


Peterson’s Familiar Science; 

Or the scientific explanation of common things. 

The pages of “ Familiar Science ” are its best recommendation. The com¬ 
mon phenomena of life are treated of in a simple and intelligible manner, 
which renders it both pleasing and instructive. In the family circle, as a 
text-book, it will form the basis of an hour’s interesting conversation, and in 
the hands of the pupil it will be a valuable aid in the acquisition of useful 
knowledge. 

This is a work of rare merit. It should be in every family, for more infor¬ 
mation can be gained from it, than from half the books afloat. We most hear¬ 
tily commend it to the public.— Masonic, Review. 

How often have we heard parents rebuke a child for asking what they terra 
“silly questions,” when they were unable to answer their artless inquiries. 
This little work is designed to explain many of these things.— Odd Fellow's 
Literary Casket. 

The above manual of science should be in the hands of every youth in the 
land.— Parlor Magazine. 

About two thousand questions, on all subjects of general information, are 
answered in language so plain that all may understand it.— Home Gazette. 

This is really a valuable book, and furnishes more useful and practical in¬ 
formation than can be obtained from many volumes of profoundly abstruse 
works.— Genius of the West. 

Temperance Musician; 

A choice selection of original and selected Temperance Music, arranged for 

one, two, three or four voices, with an extensive variety of Temperance 

Songs. I vol. 32mo. 

It contains a great number of tunes and melodies which win the hearts of 
all the people, and which the boys in their happy moments sing and whistle 
as it were spontaneously.— Springfield Western Leader. 

We think it, so far as we have examined it, the best collection of songs we 
have seen. Some of them are exceedingly beautiful and affecting.— Tempe~ 
ranee. Chart. 

We have examined the Temperance Musician, and have no hesitation in 
recommending it to the public as a valuable work. The tunes seem to he ex¬ 
cellent, and the songs are of the best.— Indianapolis Christian Record. 

This is a popular Temperance Song book, designed for the people, and 
should be in every family. We can k recommend it to the patronage of all our 
temperance friends, as the best temperance songster, with music attached, wo 
have seen.— Cincinnati Commercial. 

It is the best collection of Temperance songs and music we have seen.— 

Summit Beacon. 

It strikes us as being just the thing for the times and the vacuum it is in¬ 
tended to fill. Temperance songs, with music to suit, will do much to keep 
temperance feeling alive, particularly with lovers of music.— Maine Law 
Messenger. 










































































































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